


Offer Me His Lips

by centreoftheselights



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Fae, Anal Fingering, Anxiety, Bad Communication, Ball gowns, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Boys in Skirts, Carrying, Clothed Sex, Clothing Porn, Come Marking, Comedic Violence, Dancing, Debt, Developing Relationship, Explicit Consent, Fae Deals, Fae Roman Sanders, Fear, Flirting, Food, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Living Together, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Loud Sex, Love Bites, M/M, Magic, Magically Induced Emotions, Marking, Masturbation Interruptus, Mention of Skin Picking, Minor Mind Control, Moaning, Morning Sex, Negotiations, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Sex before love, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wall Sex, minor gore, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: When Virgil decides to make a deal with a fae to pay off his student debt, he's expecting to pay with a night of his time. Instead, he winds up bound for a year and a day to Roman, a fairy prince.This could either be the worst year of his life, or the best. And he has no idea which.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I made a joke about fucking a fae to pay off your student loan debt and things spiralled out of control.
> 
> This is mostly an excuse for smut. I make no apologies, and promise no updates.

Virgil picks up the heap of mail on his desk, and flips through the envelopes. _Final Notice_. _Past Due_. _Eviction Warning_.

_Fuck_.

It wasn't like he hadn't been trying. He had applied to job after job, but most of them wanted experience he didn't have. He'd landed a couple, only to find that he couldn't get enough hours to make ends meet, and he got fired as soon as he made one mistake, or missed a day of work, or the busy season was over.

He couldn't believe he was actually contemplating this option but… he was running low on ideas.

“Fuck it,” he said out loud to himself, and went to his dresser.

Every town had its local fae legend. Statistically speaking, 99.5% of them were bullshit. The fae were incredibly rare, and most of them didn't choose to spend their time interacting with human society. Something which Virgil could relate to.

But. This town had a local legend, that if you went into the woods and ignored the warning signs to walk into the fairy circle – then, provided you were a moderately attractive young man, you might just attract the attention of a fae who could grant you magical favours. In return for… favours of a different kind.

It was a fool's hope, the kind of pretty story that anyone who knew half a thing about the fae would scoff at, but based on Virgil's last conversation with his landlord, magical intervention was literally his only chance of not being homeless by next month. It was time to be a little foolish.

His hands are shaking as he dresses himself. Black halter neck crop top, purple miniskirt, leather jacket. He feels over-exposed, but that's half the point, isn't it? Fishnets would really complete the look, but he doesn't own any, and besides, he doesn't want to freeze to death in the woods, so he opts for leggings instead. Eyeliner, dark lipstick, knee high combat boots.

Gotta look the part, right?

He looks his reflection in the eye, and tries one last time to think of a better plan than this.

Then he starts walking to the woods.

 

He reaches the fairy circle at around 9pm. It's dark, but the sky is still blue-violet rather than black, the stars fading slowly into view. Virgil hesitates at the edge of the clearing for a few minutes, then steps carefully into its centre.

Nothing happens.

He waits for five minutes, and then ten more. He thinks about sitting down, but he doesn't want to get his skirt wet on the forest floor. So he stands around, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket, looking up at the ever-brightening stars, waiting for anything to happen.

Strangely, some part of him is disappointed. This was always a long shot, but it still hurts to have one more hope die inside of him.

As the time on his phone ticks over to 9:30, he shakes his head, and turns to leave.

“Going so soon? You haven't even introduced yourself.”

Virgil spins around, and there he is. He's tall – easily more than six feet, and built of solid muscle. He's dressed like he's come straight from the Ren Faire, a white doublet with gold embroidery and a red sash across his face. And he's _glowing_ , his skin golden, and his dark curls shining like he's caught in a ray of sunlight, in spite of the night sky overhead.

He is the most beautiful man Virgil has ever seen in his life.

_Not a man_ , Virgil reminds himself. _Keep it together._

“You can call me Prince Roman.” He smiles and steps forward, offering his hand to Virgil. As he steps closer, Virgil realises that his eyes are a bright blood-red.

Virgil doesn't take his hand. He sure as fuck doesn't offer up his name, because he's not a _complete fucking idiot_. He stays very still, suddenly feeling like a mouse caught between the cat's paws.

Roman doesn't seem surprised by this reaction. After a couple of seconds, he withdraws his hand, and asks:

“So, what brings you to my lovely forest?”

“I heard you have a thing for mortals.”

Virgil can't quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. He always joked that his cheek was going to get him killed one day, but here and now, that possibility feels all too real.

Fortunately, Roman laughs. It's a touch too loud, and his smile shows too many teeth, bright white and unnaturally sharp.

“So you came rushing here to meet me?” he asks. “How sweet.”

Virgil decides that the straightforward path is the best one in this case.

“I want to make a deal,” he says.

Roman steps towards him. A part of Virgil wants to turn and run, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to leave the fairy circle yet, wants to be the kind of person who holds his ground. He sets his jaw and stays still, even as Roman comes close enough to touch, close enough that he leans in and _scents_ Virgil's _neck_ , what the _fuck_ -

Roman looks Virgil slowly up and down, and grins again, his teeth blindingly white and his eyes so, so red

“It seems you know the sort of deals I prefer to make?”

Virgil nods, not trusting his voice. His heart is pounding in his ears.

As much as he hates to admit it, that may not be solely from fear.

“And what do you desire in return?” Roman asks, his voice feather-light.

Virgil had a plan for what he was going to bargain for. Large amounts of money, for preference, or possibly some sort of good fortune charm to tide him over. But now there's a fae inches away, and he feels dizzy from hyperventilating, and there are scarletbeyes staring into his soul and somehow, he finds himself telling the truth, right down from his heart.

“I want to not be afraid any more.”

Roman blinks. Virgil's mind clears for a moment, and he stumbles over himself to clarify his words.

“Not by killing me, or making me unable to feel fear, or anything like that. No tricks. I want a life in which I feel secure and I don't need to worry about money, or work, or any of that bullshit.”

Roman tips his head to the side. “That's a lot to ask.”

“Can you do it?”

“Of course.” Roman brushes off the question with a wave of his hand. “But it's worth far more than a night, don't you think? I'll give it to you for a year and a day.”

“What?”

Roman steps back with a sweep of his arm.

“A year and a day of your time, spent bound to me. You come with me, and you do as I ask of you – although I will take nothing you do not freely give to me.” Another sharp smile that makes Virgil's pulse jump. “When that time is completed, I will grant your boon.”

Something tenses in Virgil's stomach. He steps forward, away from the edge of the circle, considering.

“And… what if I change my mind, between now and then?”

“Hmm.” Roman stalks around the edge of the fairy ring like a caged lion, and Virgil can feel the fae's eyes on every inch of him. It makes him shiver in a way that has nothing to do with cold.

“How about this? Anything I ask of you while you are bound, you may refuse. But if you refuse a single request three times, or if you break any vow you give to me, then our deal will be void. You will be returned safely to the mortal world, and all bond between us shall be broken.”

It sounds…

~~_Completely insane. Selling yourself to a fucking fae for a whole year, what are you -_ ~~

~~_Still somehow better than his last job..._ ~~

~~_Too good to be true?_ ~~

“Acceptable.”

Virgil knows he should be closing loopholes and making smart choices and all that other stuff, but Roman is watching him with eyes that glint red in the darkness, and all of this feels unreal, like he's in a dream.

“You agree to my terms? Excellent.”

In the blink of an eye, Roman is behind him, his hands resting on Virgil's biceps, his breath on the nape of Virgil's neck. Virgil freezes, still as a stone, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

Roman chuckles into his ear.

“My, you are an anxious one, aren't you? Since you won't give me your true name, perhaps I'll just have to call you Anxiety. Are you ready to go, my sweet?”

“Now?” Virgil's voice cracks. “Can't I… go home and pack?”

Roman releases him, and suddenly he's at the far edge of the circle, half-hidden in a shadow that doesn't hide the pout on his face.

“I can provide you with everything you need,” he insists.

“I'm sure you can, man, but I wasn't exactly expecting to be gone a whole year when I set out this evening. I'll come if I have to, but -”

Roman flaps a hand.

“Fine,” he says, sharply. “You can return here at sunrise. If…”

Virgil swallows.

Roman smiles.

“We still haven't 'sealed the deal', so to speak.”

“Uh. What, exactly, does that -”

Virgil can feel his cheeks getting hot. His mind is racing with ideas, and only about half of them are things he's prepared to do in the woods.

“Just a kiss, my sparrow-hearted one.”

Roman is watching Virgil from across the clearing, and after a few seconds, it becomes clear that this time, he wants Virgil to go to him. Virgil tries not to show fear at the intense focus of those eyes on him, fights the urge to try and fidget the hem of his skirt down or fold his arms over the strip of midriff that's on display. He takes one step, then another, until he's close enough to reach out and touch.

Roman is smiling at him, and for the first time it's not hard to look at, except for how it makes Virgil's breath catch in his throat. When Virgil reaches up, Roman lets himself be guided down, lets Virgil cup his face and press their lips together.

As a kiss with a fae goes, it's quick and chaste and strangely sweet.

Virgil pulls away slowly, his eyes still closed, letting himself be lost in the dream of this moment. He can feel Roman’s breath against his face, cool and smelling sweet as roses.

“Dream of me,” Roman says, softly.

When Virgil opens his eyes, Roman is gone.

 

Virgil hurries home, mind racing, but the panic he half-expects never quite comes. The reality of the situation sinks in, but he doesn't drown in it. There's a curiosity, burning in him like a lifeline, keeping his head above the water.

He hurriedly packs a bag of essentials – toothbrush, music player, favourite clothes. He thinks briefly about sending some emails, but who to? He doesn't have any family, or even any friends worth mentioning. Will anyone even notice he's missing?

He falls asleep a little after midnight, his alarm set for the asscrack of dawn.

When Virgil sleeps, his dreams are full of red eyes and golden skin and rose-sweet breath against his lips. He wakes up the next morning harder than he can ever remember being, and brings himself to a quick completion groaning Roman's name.

This could either be the worst year of his life, or the best.

… and he has no idea which.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna rec a fae-related piece of media every chapter just for the hell of it.
> 
> First up is the Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J Maas. If you've read the series, some parts of this fic are probably going to seem quite familiar! I absolutely fell in love with the second book when I first read it, because it has one of the best romance storylines I've ever read. So if you like this fic, consider checking it out!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil begins his time with Roman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic was meant to be a reference to [You Took The Words Right Outta My Mouth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqwZLe-hNMU) but I realised the day after I posted that I got the quote wrong, so I guess it's an allusion rather than a direct quote. Whoops.

Virgil returns to the woods, bag on his back, not long after 6am. As he walks deeper into the forest, he passes the warning signs – yellow, red, then black – meant to prevent the unwary or foolhardy from stumbling into something that he has just volunteered himself for.

He doesn't turn back.

When he reaches the clearing, he steps carefully over the wide brown mushrooms that form the fairy circle, plants his feet in the centre, and sighs.

“Roman?”

“Anxiety.”

The voice behind him makes Virgil start, even though he was half-expecting it. He turns with a scowl. Roman is practically beaming.

“Ready to join me, my darling?”

“I'm here, aren't I?” Virgil shrugs. “So… how do we do this?”

“If you take my arm…”

Roman holds out an arm, expectantly, and Virgil takes a deep breath -

_Last chance for second thoughts._

\- and takes hold of it.

The world slides out of focus for a second – only that isn't quite accurate. It isn't as though he can't see, only that right before his eyes, everything changes, without the awareness of anything changing at all. As though the world simply decides that it no longer wishes to be a forest clearing, but instead -

Virgil is in front of a large house – manor? _Castle_? It's bigger than any residence he has ever seen before, except possibly his school's field trip to the White House. This is a large red-brown building with large leaded windows, roofline speckled with turrets and crenellations and other fancy parts Virgil can't name. As he looks down, he realises they are standing on a broad path of golden gravel, among which grow dainty red flowers no larger than Virgil's thumbnail. All around the path are gardens exploding in a riot of colour, broad trees and sturdy hedges and everywhere, thousands upon thousands of flowers in bloom. In the distance, behind them, there is a tall, twisted wall of thorns, beyond which tower the treetops of an old-growth forest, grey and imposing.

_Welcome to fairyland. Population: you._

Roman releases Virgil's hand, and sweeps imperiously towards the house. Virgil stumbles after him, trying to catch his bearings. Is he imagining it, or is the sun brighter here, the air warmer, the colours shining more vibrant than they have any right to?

The door of the house is easily twice Virgil's height, but Roman opens a smaller door set into it, ushering Virgil into a grand entrance foyer. The room is more modern than Virgil might have guessed, bright and spacious, but he finds himself staring wide-eyed at a high arched ceiling overhead that seems to crawl with living roses, blooming bright scarlet.

“I hope the accommodations are to your satisfaction,” Roman says, a knowing smirk on his face at Virgil's wonder.

Virgil quickly schools his expression into a scowl.

“Anything you need while you are here, if you simply ask for it and you will be shown the way. I expect that everything you might desire is available somewhere in my lands.”

Virgil blinks at that, not certain what Roman means. Roman gives him a significant look, and he realises he's supposed to try it.

“Uhh… where's my room?”

As he speaks the words, something bright flashes in front of him, then again and again. A cloud of glinting light forms, soft and golden like the sun reflecting on a distant sea. It dances away from him, retreating a few yards toward the staircase before stopping. When Virgil steps forward, it moves ahead, leading him up the staircase.

“If I might prevail upon your company a moment longer?”

Roman's voice halts Virgil as he's halfway across the room. He turns quickly, embarrassed to have forgotten why he's here. Is he supposed to ask permission to leave Roman's presence?

Roman's expression is unusually grim. Virgil thinks this might be the first time he's seen the fae without even a hint of a smile on his face.

“Before you leave my presence,” he says, “I must ask that you give me your word that you will not attempt to leave my estate without my express permission.”

“Uh, sure,” Virgil says. “I vow it, or whatever.”

Roman nods slowly. Virgil is not really sure why this is such a big deal.

“The lands outside of my control would not be welcoming to you,” Roman says. “But naturally, you have my permission to leave should you ever feel that you are more endangered here than you would be in the Fae Woods.”

“No duh,” Virgil scoffs. “I have no intention of dying here.”

Roman tips his head to the side.

“Not even for your heart's truest desire?” he asks.

“What good is that if I'm dead?”

A small smile creeps back onto Roman's face. Virgil has no idea what it means.

“Nevertheless, I will not make you choose. If you believe you are truly in danger here, you are free to leave without breaking the terms of our bargain.”

Virgil nods, his voice suddenly deserting him. It's just beginning to sink in that this is his life now. He's here, at Roman's mercy, for a year and a day.

Right now, that feels like forever.

He doesn't know what to do next. Is he supposed to stay in his room unless Roman wants him for something? Or is he supposed to be the one initiating? Suddenly his torn jeans and battered old hoodie, which had felt like a fitting _fuck you_ to the fae at 5am, no longer seem up to the task ahead of him.

But to his surprise, Roman turns to leave with a sweep of his arm.

“I have other matters to attend to,” he says airily. “The house and grounds are at your disposal. You know how to find me if you wish to.”

Virgil is left alone with nothing but the helpful cloud of sparks, still drifting towards his room upstairs.

“Okay,” he says to himself. “Let's get the lay of the land.”

Slowly, he makes his way up the staircase and towards his new home.

 

Saying that his new room is luxurious would be an understatement. Virgil's new room is bigger than his entire apartment, complete with four-poster bed, en suite bathroom and walk-in wardrobe.

… and the wardrobe has clothes in it. A lot of clothes, all of which seem to have been extrapolated from Virgil's outfit last night. There's a lot of black and purple, which is great, a lot of skirts, which is really more a special-occasion thing but he can handle it, and a _lot_ of excuses to show a lot of skin, which he's less than enthused about. He flips through outfit after outfit of low necklines, high hems, cutouts and slits and mesh, and he can feel his cheeks growing warm at even the thought of wearing some of these things. And that's _before_ he opens a drawer and finds a collection of lacy lingerie awaiting him.

He couldn't wear _that_! But then, if Roman asks him to…

The clothes have another thing in common: they all seem _expensive_. Virgil isn't sure the fae even have a concept of money, or if they just magic everything they need out of thin air, but the fabrics here seem impossibly soft, warm, hard-wearing. And, while he doesn't try anything on, he has a strong suspicion that everything in this room is _exactly_ his size.

Virgil sits on the bed for a few minutes, waiting for the panic attack to hit him but… nothing comes. He's in fairyland now; if he's gonna die, there's not a damn thing he can do about it. He dug this grave, and now he has to lie in it.

… It's possible that he has gone through panic and out the other side.

He spends the next several hours wondering around the castle, exploring the place he's meant to call home for the next year. It's enormous, but the golden sparks keep him from getting lost. He plays around for a while, trying to work out the limits of that particular magic. When he asks for a way outside, he finds his way onto a terrace. When he asks for a room he could sock-slide in, he's led to a lavish ballroom with perfectly polished wooden floors. And when he asks for a PB&J, he follows the sparks to a kitchen, and finds a plate waiting for him on the counter.

The only time the sparks fail to appear is when he asks for somewhere to charge his phone. He'd figured as much, which is why his phone has been turned off in his backpack all day, saving its charge for whenever he makes it back to the mortal realm. He's pretty sure this place doesn't have wi-fi anyway – he's going to have to keep himself entertained the old-fashioned way. Speaking of which…

Roman remains conspicuously absent for most of the day. Virgil didn't expect that, but he isn't exactly surprised either. Fae are unpredictable. Apparently, he gets a day to settle in. He isn't going to complain about that.

 

“Everything to your liking, my starling?”

Virgil starts so badly that he stumbles backwards, colliding with Roman's chest since the fae is now stood right behind him. He turns and steps back, swearing loudly:

“What the fuck, dude?”

From Roman's grin, this reaction was exactly the point. However, Virgil gets distracted from chewing Roman out when he glances down… and his eyes keep going.

Roman has changed his outfit.

Which is fine! He's entitled to wear whatever he wants; this is _his_ home after all. Only, the shirt he's wearing now is, uh… not really doing what shirts are supposed to.

It's white, and ruffly in a very old-fashioned way, with three-quarter length sleeves. But the problem Virgil has with it is that it's _open_ , almost all the way down Roman's chest, revealing very muscular pecs and just a hint of chiselled abs, skin golden-bright and dusted with downy black hairs.

The sight is distracting, to say the least.

“Everything to your liking?” Roman repeats, with a look on his face that is entirely too knowing.

“… yes,” Virgil stutters out. “You, uh. Have a lovely home.”

Was it weird to say that? It felt weird to say, but it felt kind of rude not saying anything, and he doesn't really know the etiquette -

“Since the evening is beginning to draw in,” Roman says, and Virgil thinks _here we go_ \- “I humbly request your company at my dinner table.”

Oh. Not exactly what he was expecting, but fine.

“Sure thing,” Virgil says.

He expects Roman to lead the way, but instead Roman offers his arm. Virgil hesitates, but takes it, because _what else is he supposed to do_?

… Roman's biceps are _huge_. Virgil gets distracted thinking about how strong he must be, before remembering that he's a fae and can quite possibly be however strong he chooses, which does not help his distraction _at all_.

“So,” he says, forcing himself to make conversation. “What have you been doing all day?”

“Do you truly want to know?” Roman asks, giving Virgil a teasing look.

“I asked, didn't I?” Virgil snaps. If talking to fae is always like this, it's going to be a long year.

“I was dealing with a small skirmish just outside the borders of my lands.”

To Virgil's surprise, Roman launches into a story about seeing off some dryads who were encroaching on his territory. As he describes the confrontation, he drops Virgil's arm in order to act out a dramatic swordfight as they walk. Virgil only barely follows the story, given that he only kind of knows what a dryad is, but Roman's telling of it is captivating, the fae throwing his whole self into the performance.

They come to a dining room, long wooden table laid with two place settings beside each other, the food steaming on the plates as they walk through the door. Roman pulls out Virgil's chair, and takes tucking him in as an excuse to lean close over Virgil's shoulder. Virgil half-expects him to say something, or perhaps kiss him – but neither happens.

The food smells wonderful. But as he lifts his fork, Virgil hesitates.

“Is this safe for me to eat?” he asks, trying not to blush. “Only, the legends say that if you eat the food of the fae you can never leave…”

Roman's brow creases.

“I would not cross our bargain with such skulduggery,” he says, with a hint of impatience. “Fae food is no more harmful than any other, unless it is enchanted to be so. Since I have already given my word on your freedom, nothing I offer will bind you here.”

Virgil bites his tongue. He's just insulted Roman. Again. He _really_ has to stop doing that.

“Besides,” Roman continues. “Why would I need to bind you? You are already mine.”

Virgil can feel his cheeks growing hot at the sheer ease with which Roman _says that_. He's pretty sure that hearing something like that should be creepy but that's… not how Virgil feels about it. At all.

He looks down at the table, trying to hide his growing awkwardness. Then he takes a bite of the food, and everything else is forgotten. It tastes _incredible_. He can't identify any of the ingredients on his plate, but the flavours are so rich and enticing that it puts everything he's ever eaten before now to shame.

Virgil's eyes close automatically, and he thinks he might let out a small groan at the taste of that first mouthful. When he opens his eyes again, Roman is watching him, red eyes unblinking, pupils wide. For a few seconds, they watch each other in silence. Virgil can't even bring himself to blush.

“A toast,” Roman suggests, his voice low, “to a year and a day.”

“A year and a day,” Virgil repeats, taking a sip of the purple liquid in his glass. He expected wine, but instead it's sweet, almost syrupy, with no taste of alcohol. It takes all his concentration not to groan again at the rich, fruity flavour.

Roman lowers his glass, eyes still watching Virgil. As they make eye contact, Roman licks his lips. Virgil's heart skips a beat, and though he tries his best to hide his reaction, Roman smirks.

“So, did you have a pleasant day, my dearest Anxiety?”

Oh. Well, two can play at _that_ game.

 

By the time they're finished eating, Virgil is the kind of full that he can't remember being in years of living off instant ramen and plain omelettes. He's also more than a little excited. Roman flirts as easily as he breathes, but every so often Virgil manages to catch his attention in a way that he suspects is the fae's version of being rendered speechless. And every time that happens, it sends a shiver down Virgil's spine.

So when Roman gets to his feet and suggests they move somewhere more comfortable, Virgil is only too happy to follow. But to his surprise, as they reach the foyer, Roman doesn't turn towards the staircase. Instead they cross to the opposite room, and make their way to a large door.

The room beyond is cosy, plush red and dark wood, a fire burning in the hearth. Several comfortable chairs are clustered around it, as well as a few more practical writing desks. And beyond that – bookshelves, row after row, bearing leatherbound volumes with titles picked out in gold.

“I often spend my evenings in the library,” Roman says, by way of explanation. He takes a seat at one of the desks. “You are welcome to take any volume that catches your eye.”

Then Roman pulls out a piece of parchment and begins writing something with a feather quill in a dramatically looping hand. Virgil seems to have been dismissed.

He blinks a couple of times in shock before busying himself looking at the bookshelves. Many of the volumes have mystical-sounding titles, or are written in unfamiliar languages, but towards the back of the room he stumbles across some literature he recognises. He picks out a volume of Edgar Allan Poe short stories, and settles himself by the fire. An hour or so later, he's nearly asleep in his chair.

Virgil lets the book fall shut in his lap, and in a blink, Roman is leaning over him.

“I – is it alright if I go to bed?” Virgil asks.

“Of course, my darling,” Roman says. “But I have one request before you go?”

Virgil is too exhausted to do anything but blink at him.

“Might I steal from you a goodnight kiss?”

Virgil yawns. “Yeah. 'Course.”

Roman leans down, and Virgil tilts his head up to meet him. He shuts his eyes as Roman leans in -

And instead, feels a soft brush of lips against his cheek, just grazing the corner of his mouth.

“Good night, my sweet.”

Virgil stumbles up the stairs, his skin still burning with Roman's kiss, and collapses quickly into bed.

This has been a very strange day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't expect smut in this smut fic, did you? ...sorry, I didn't really intend for this to be such a tease.
> 
> This week's fae book recommendation is for the Wicked Lovely series by Melissa Marr. I absolutely love this series, and I have done for years! It has a huge cast of really interesting characters, and an epic plot that brings them all together. Plus, it's just about the only series I can think of which explores polyamory as a valid option for resolving a love triangle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil experiences some amount of frustration.

Virgil's first week in Roman's house is one of the most confusing times of his life.

When he had agreed to belong to the fae, Virgil didn't know what to expect, but the range of possibilities he had in mind fell somewhere between 'joining a harem' and 'living sex toy'. The point was, sex was going to happen, probably a lot of it. He had _known_ _this_ signing up, and he had agreed to it.

But the reality is proving to be more like Beauty & the Beast. The Disney version. _Complete with PG rating._

Virgil has been spending his days walking in the _gardens_ and reading _books_ in the library and teaching himself how to _draw_ , and it is driving him _out of his mind_.

Oh, Roman flirts. He stands too close and whispers in Virgil's ear and the whole appearing-right-behind-him thing is turning into a bad habit. But so far, he has been content to simply invite Virgil to dinner every evening, and then sit with him in the library afterwards. At least once a day, he asks for a kiss, only to press his lips to Virgil's cheek or brow or fingertips or hair.

Virgil no longer understands what Roman wants or expects from him. He'd think the fae is simply disinterested, but there have been… hints otherwise.

Virgil is still having dreams. Intense, vivid, memorable dreams, that lead to him waking every morning gasping and needy and so, so sensitive. He's pretty sure it's magic now, after a straight week without a break, especially after that one day when he came so hard he fell back asleep afterwards, and woke up hard _again_ half an hour later.

He is very, very grateful to discover that, as he stumbles into the bathroom to wash up, the sticky crumpled mess of bedlinen he has left behind him will vanish and be replaced by clean, freshly-made sheets. That's the way things work here – messes vanish themselves when he looks away, the kitchen always has fresh food as he enters, and his dirty laundry will be hung in the wardrobe when he wakes, smelling fresh as a daisy.

The clothes are another clue. For the first few days, Virgil had felt too uncomfortable to wear most of Roman's provided wardrobe, not yet ready to show _that_ _much_ skin unless Roman directly asked. He had found a couple of pairs of trousers that were acceptable enough, but when it came to tops, he found himself keeping his old familiar black hoodie as a protective buffer against the strangeness around him.

On his third morning in Roman's manor, he woke to find a new hoodie hanging on the door of the wardrobe. It was beautiful – still black, but with violet lining, and bright-patterned purple patches sewn on with precisely messy stitches. It was much thinner than the hoodie Virgil brought from home, but as he slipped it on, he found that it was soft and warm against his skin, like a blanket fresh from the drier. Even the zipper, though it looked metallic, was somehow at skin temperature.

It also… _nearly_ went down as far as his navel. If he wore it without a shirt underneath, he'd be showing at least an inch and a half of skin at his midriff.

So, he had thought… maybe this was time to take a hint.

When he walked into the kitchen that morning for breakfast, Roman was already there eating. As Virgil entered, Roman's fork stilled halfway to his mouth, and his eyes were immediately on Virgil, sweeping oh-so-slowly over the strip of exposed flesh before meeting his eye. The look he gave was heart-stopping.

_And not in a bad way._

Because Virgil is starting to realise that all those expectations Roman keeps defying? Well… they hadn't been entirely distasteful to him. Quite the opposite, in some cases. After all, it has been a couple of years. There are definitely _worse_ ways to break his dry spell than with a stunningly gorgeous and immensely powerful fae.

It's time he showed Roman that he isn't some blushing virgin who needs to be wooed over months. Virgil wants _more_ , wants whatever comes _after_ that look in Roman's eyes.

And if wearing the clothes Roman picked out for him is going to help get him that, well…

Roman's given him a lot of ammunition to work with.

 

By the morning of his seventh day here, Virgil has lost all shame when it comes to his wardrobe. He pairs his cropped patchwork hoodie with a knee-length black pleated skirt, and a pair of lace-patterned violet tights so fine that he wonders if they might literally be made of cobwebs. He carefully applies eyeliner, dark eyeshadow, and some plum-coloured lipstick. He's long since given up wearing his boots in favour of soft-soled black leather slippers which are five times more comfortable than any other shoes he's ever owned, and somehow hardy enough that, even walking on the gravel path outside, he feels no discomfort.

Unfortunately, he doesn't see Roman until that evening. The fae appears out of nowhere as usual, sending Virgil's pulse skyrocketing as he feels Roman's breath on the nape of his neck.

“Fucking hell -” Virgil spins on his heel. “Why won't you stop doing that?”

Roman smiles brightly.

“Because I treasure the sound of your heart racing, my fieldmouse.”

Virgil doesn't know what to say to that. He rolls his eyes instead, and takes Roman's arm automatically.

“What's for dinner?” he asks.

Roman gives him a long look, yet another that Virgil doesn't understand.

“You wouldn't understand the names if I told them to you,” he says lightly, after a moment.

“Maybe not,” Virgil admits. “But if you don't tell me I'll never learn. That's kinda how it works.”

Roman laughs, and Virgil feels like he's floating in zero gravity. Perhaps this is going to be the night -

 

But somehow, three hours later, he finds himself sitting in one of the high-backed armchairs besides the library fireplace, watching Roman scribbling away at whatever he works on every evening.

Virgil has a book in his lap, but he hasn't taken in a word for at least half an hour. How is he supposed to focus when Roman is right _there_ , in his dramatically-open shirt and those trousers that are _literally_ better-fitting than is humanly possible, looking like he's auditioning for the part of sexy Shakespeare in some historical romance series produced by HBO?

Virgil feels warm all over, and it isn't from the fire.

He flips the cover of the book closed, and in a moment Roman is leaning against the armrest of his chair, watching Virgil with a smile.

“Leaving already?” he asks.

“And what if I am?” Virgil shoots back.

“Then I suppose I shall offer you a kiss goodnight.”

Another goodnight kiss. _Of course_.

Suddenly, all the butterflies and nervousness inside Virgil twist into something else, and he's no longer warm. Now, he's _burning_.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps.

“I am offering you a kiss goodnight. You are free to refuse if you wish.”

“Why?” Virgil demands. He grabs onto the front of Roman's shirt, and the fae makes no attempt to pull away. “I'm – I'm _yours_ , aren't I?”

Roman uses that word all the time – _my_ darling, _my_ dearest, _my_ Anxiety, _mine_. It's wormed its way inside Virgil. He wants to know what that word means on Roman's lips.

~~He wants to hear it some more.~~

“You could be asking me for _anything_!” Virgil continues. “So – so why _aren't_ you?”

There's a long moment of silence between them. Virgil lets go of Roman's shirt, but he doesn't look away from the fae's red eyes.

When he speaks, Roman's voice is low and husky.

“And if I asked you for… _anything_ …” Roman savours the word. “… would you say yes?”

“I -”

Virgil's face is hot, burning like the sun under the heat of Roman's gaze. Roman leans forward, the fire reflecting in his eyes as he breathes deeply in, only an inch from Virgil's neck.

“Oh, little Anxiety. Your blood smells so sweet when it's flowing fast. Back and forth, round and round, up and… down.”

Roman's gaze follows his words, and Virgil can feel his blood rushing even harder.

“I told you the night we met, I take nothing that is not freely given. Now… what will you give to me?”

Virgil hates this. He hates his burning face and his treacherous blood and everything Roman does to him – how giddy he feels right now, drunk on just the thought of being with him. And he _hates_ asking for what he wants… but it's all too clear that if he doesn't, this will end now.

And if that happens, he's going to explode.

“Could you – uh. Hold me?”

He meant for Roman to put his arms around him, but words are tricky with the fae. For a dizzying second, Virgil is lifted into the air, bridal style. Then Roman is sat on Virgil's chair, placing Virgil side-saddle across his lap as though he weighs no more than a child.

 _That should not be as much of a turn on as it is_.

Roman's arms are around Virgil's waist, fingertips gently brushing against the exposed skin there. Virgil automatically reaches out for something to hold onto, and in a second his hands are looped behind Roman's neck, and Roman's face is so close, and Virgil leans forward and – _fuck it_ – kisses him.

He pulls back after about half a second.

“Shit. I'm sorry. Was that okay? I didn't mean to -”

Roman laughs a little, and gives him one of those soft smiles that makes Virgil's stomach flip over.

“I assure you,” he says, “there's nothing you are capable of doing to me without my consent.”

Those words make goosebumps prickle across Virgil's skin.

_Well. Okay then._

He kisses Roman again, deeper this time. When he opens his mouth, Roman kisses him back, passionate but not pushing. When Virgil pulls back, Roman lets him; when he pushes forwards, Roman presses against him.

Virgil breaks away, panting for air. He presses light kisses down Roman's neck. The skin there is warm, warmer than a human's, and it tastes too sweet, not a trace of salt. Virgil thinks he could get addicted to a taste like that.

~~It makes him wonder about other tastes.~~

It takes a couple of minutes to realise that something is missing. Virgil was expecting reciprocation – kisses, touch, _anything_. But while Roman sighs under Virgil’s mouth, tilts his head back and arches into the touch, his hands haven't moved from where they are resting lightly at Virgil's waist.

Virgil glances down, and then looks at Roman, questioningly.

“What do you want from me?” Roman asks, a teasing look in his eye.

Virgil bites his lip, forcing the words out.

“Would you… kiss me? Please?”

“On the lips?”

Virgil makes a soft, quiet noise that _definitely_ isn't a moan.

_“Anywhere.”_

In an instant Roman's lips are on the pulse point of his neck, and this time Virgil can't deny that he moans, loudly. He tilts his head back, far enough that only Roman's hands are holding him upright, and buries a hand in Roman’s hair. Roman is gentle, gentler than Virgil wants – too soft to leave a bruise, but the press of his tongue is driving Virgil wild anyway.

“Touch me.”

There's no hesitation this time, the words slip out of Virgil’s mouth without a second thought. He _needs_ Roman to touch him. He doesn't wait for an answer – even as he's speaking, his hand is on Roman’s, pulling it off of his waist, towards the front of his skirt. He presses Roman’s hand against his cock, and his breath catches in his throat.

Roman goes very still.

“Are you offering me your release?” he asks, his mouth only a hair's breadth from Virgil’s neck.

“Fuck, _yes_ , please -”

There's another moment of head-spinning motion. Virgil finds himself sat with his back pressed against Roman’s chest, one of Roman’s arms wrapped around his chest, the other reaching under his skirt, into his boxers -

The first touch of Roman’s hand against his cock is enough to make Virgil whine with pleasure. As he grinds down into Roman’s lap he can feel Roman’s erection pressed against him, and that almost makes him whine again.

Roman doesn't tease any more. His hand moves over Virgil’s cock at a relentless pace, and Virgil can do nothing but writhe against him as Roman’s lips press against his neck. He turns his head, and Roman obliges him by catching Virgil’s lips with a kiss. Then he strokes once, twice more, and Virgil comes, moaning his pleasure into Roman’s mouth.

Virgil relaxes against Roman for a moment, his limbs going boneless, his head spinning as he tries to catch his bearings.

He's _pretty_ sure he just got jerked off by a centuries-old fae, came so hard that every muscle in his body is shaking, and ruined a very nice skirt in the process.

Roman makes some kind of motion with his hand, and the sticky mess on Virgil’s thighs vanishes.

“Nice trick, Princey.”

Virgil rolls his hips a little, and yep, Roman is definitely still hard against him.

“Now, what am I going to do about that?”

Roman releases his grip on Virgil’s chest, and Virgil turns to look at him. For the first time since Virgil met him a week ago, the fae seems uncertain.

“No reciprocation is required of you, dearest Anxiety.”

Virgil laughs a little. With the lightest touch, he pushes Roman’s legs open, then slides onto his knees between them.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, and begins unlacing Roman’s pants.

It takes Virgil… actually, far too long to get Roman’s pants open, because who the fuck has lace-up pants? But when he finally does, he wraps a hand around Roman’s cock, sucks it into his mouth eagerly, and then looks up at Roman with half-lidded eyes.

Roman is watching him with an absolutely inhuman look on his face, something halfway between curiosity and hunger. It sends a shiver down Virgil’s spine, but not entirely in a bad way.

~~He wants Roman to take him apart with that look on his face.~~

Roman doesn't touch, doesn't pull on Virgil’s hair or even thrust his hips upwards. His hands are resting lightly on the arms of the chair, never moving an inch. It's up to Virgil to set the pace. Roman is bigger than he can swallow without gagging – he'll have to work on that – so he pumps his hand around Roman’s base in time with each bob of his head, drinking down the sugared taste of Roman’s cock as fast as his trembling muscles allow.

Roman doesn't make a sound for so, so long, but his breathing is heavy and audible, catching sometimes as Virgil sweeps his tongue over the head or cups Roman’s balls in his hand. It makes him start, almost, when Roman finally stutters out:

“Anx-Anxiety, dear heart, I’m going to -”

Virgil redoubles his efforts, and Roman is spilling down his throat, sweet as honey on Virgil’s tongue. He swallows every drop, and keeps sucking right through it, until Roman is making little breathy, high-pitched sounds from the oversensitivity of it.

He still doesn't ask Virgil to stop.

Virgil finally releases Roman’s cock, and sits back on his heels, looking up at the fae. In a moment, Roman is on his knees in front of Virgil, pressing his lips open with a kiss that leaves him dizzy and gasping for air.

“Dearest Anxiety,” Roman murmurs into Virgil's ear. “I chose you well, didn't I?”

Something deep down in Virgil reacts to that in a way that startles him with how strong it is.

“I should fucking hope so,” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

“May I escort you to your bedchamber?”

Virgil nods, and in a rush of air, he's once again in Roman’s arms, bridal style.

“You know I can walk, right? You don't need to carry me.”

Roman just smiles, and keeps on walking. He doesn't let Virgil’s feet touch the ground the whole way back to his room.

 

The next day, Virgil finds strange marks in the armrests of that chair – marks that look almost like the indentation of fingertips, gripping too tight. But they must have been there all along. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally earned that E rating! Happy Fae Fuck Friday.
> 
> Today's fae story of the week is Stardust by Neil Gaiman, the story of a half-fae boy who must seek his destiny beyond the Wall that separates the two worlds when he goes to fetch a fallen star who turns out to be quite different to what he was expecting. This was one of the first stories I ever read that had fae who were dangerous and sexual rather than the cute Disney-fied version. If you only know the film, the book is well worth checking out, as the two are quite different!
> 
> Stardust has been one of my favourite books for a long, long time, and if you possibly can you should get your hands on the graphic novel version illustrated by Charles Vess, which is one of the most beautiful books I own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil negotiates some boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Solstice everyone!

Virgil wakes slowly, a smile already on his face. As he blinks his eyes open, he's half-surprised to find himself alone in his bed. Wasn't there a presence behind him, a muscular arm thrown over his waist? But no, he remembers Roman leaving him to sleep alone last night. It must have only been a dream.

At that, Virgil realises that, for the first morning since he arrived here, he hasn't woken up hard. He sighs in relief. He's warm and well-fed and last night he got laid. He's more than happy to drift through half-consciousness for a couple of hours more on a mattress as soft as a kitten's belly.

He wakes properly some time later, roused by vague hunger and the urgent need to piss. He takes a long, warm shower before contemplating which clothes to wear. He settles on a lilac mini-dress with short sleeves and a flared flounce skirt, worn underneath his usual hoodie. With a grin, he opens up the lingerie drawer and pulls out a pair of lacy black panties.

After all, it isn't like he'll be wearing them long, if everything goes as he hopes.

When he walks into the kitchen, Roman is seated at the table, apparently waiting for him. He looks Virgil up and down with a hungry look in his eye. Then he stands, and walks over to Virgil, stopping only a hair's breadth from Virgil's face.

“Sweetest Anxiety,” Roman says, “might I offer you a morning kiss?”

Virgil smirks. “You may.”

Virgil's hands wrap around Roman's waist as he leans in – only to press his lips gently to the corner of Virgil's mouth, and begin to pull back.

Virgil tightens his grip against Roman's back. He's pretty sure he isn't strong enough to stop Roman if he really wanted to pull away, but he seems all too happy to stay where he is.

“Come _on_ ,” Virgil huffs. “Kiss me properly.”

“I -”

Virgil doesn't let Roman finish whatever he's about to say. He grasps at the back of Roman's shirt and kisses him, deep and open-mouthed. After a moment of surprise, Roman returns the kiss, his tongue pressing eagerly into Virgil's mouth. Virgil feels his knees go a little weak, and he makes a soft noise into Roman's mouth.

“Okay,” he says after they break apart. “We need to talk.”

Roman watches him, expressionless for a moment before his brow furrows in conclusion.

“Whatever do you mean, Anxiety?”

“This -” Virgil waves his hands between them - “Whatever thing you're doing? Needs to stop. You can't just kiss my cheek good morning and treat me all delicate like I didn't suck you off last night, okay?”

Roman shakes his head a little.

“I'm confused.”

Virgil sighs.

“All the asking permission,” he explains. “You don't have to ask every time. I already told you yes.”

Roman tilts his head a little.

“Consent given once is not given forever,” he says, simply.

Virgil grits his teeth.

“That's true, and a great rule in general, but in the specific? If you're going to ask me every single time you touch me, I am _not_ going to last a year.”

Roman takes a couple of steps back, and folds his arms. Virgil isn't sure what his expression means, but he knows its nothing good.

Virgil rubs his temples.

“Ground rules,” Virgil says. “Prior consent. Does that work for you, Princey?”

“I am familiar with the concept.”

Roman's voice is sharp, and Virgil raises his eyebrows.

“What's with the attitude?” he demands.

Roman flashes a smile that is all teeth.

“You are too careless with your own safety, little Anxiety.”

“Oh?” Virgil asks, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. “Are you saying I _shouldn't_ have sex with you? Is this where you tell me it's all a trick, and I'm stuck in fairyland forever now because I sucked your dick?”

“With some of my kind you would be.” Roman steps forward, crowding Virgil back against the wall with his sharp, bright incisors on show. “There are those all too like me who trap mortals that way, make themselves addictive to the taste. You would want nothing but to pleasure me, not caring to eat or drink, a slave to my whims as you faded away, until you died still begging for one last taste.”

Virgil can hear his pulse hammering in his ears. He supposes Roman can hear it too.

“I'm not scared of you,” he says.

“Don't lie to me.”

Roman's eyes flash with anger, and Virgil draws in a sharp breath. He takes a few seconds to let it out slowly, trying to keep his racing fear under control.

“I'm not,” he says. “I'm scared, but not of you. You're not going to hurt me.”

Roman stares into Virgil's eyes from only an inch or two away.

“You place a lot of faith in a few words.”

“You're trying to distract me,” Virgil shoots back. “I know what I want, and I want to have sex with you again in future. But that isn't going to work if I'm initiating everything or constantly giving verbal permission.” He smirks. “I think you'll agree there are better things I could be doing with my mouth. So we're making ground rules – unless you're afraid of a few words?”

Roman's eyes open wide in a look of surprise, and then he smiles – a real smile, this time, and Virgil feels some of the tension drain out of his muscles.

“I'm listening,” Roman says.

“Okay.”

Virgil licks his lips as he tries to think of what he wants to say. Roman watches him do so, still only inches away, which isn't helping his concentration any.

“Rule One,” he says. “Anything I say in the moment is more important than what I say now. If I say no, or stop, or pull away, then that counteracts this agreement for that interaction. And I get to change these rules in future by talking to you.”

“Agreed,” Roman says. “So, what exactly are you consenting for me to do?”

“You can touch me,” Virgil says. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Roman's hand is brushing along the side of his chest. Even through two layers of clothing, Virgil can feel every millimetre of the slow drag along his ribs.

“If we're around the house, you can touch without asking – uh, provided its above the waist.” Allowing Roman free reign to play grabass anytime he wants might sound fun in theory, but Virgil wants to keep some control over the scenario. “And nothing that would hurt me or prevent me from moving. Not without asking, anyway.”

Virgil shivers a little as he remembers that Roman could ask those things of him, any time he chose to do so. He doesn't do so now though. Instead, he begins scratching his fingernails bluntly along Virgil's back, while his other hand reaches up to cup Virgil's cheek.

“Is that all?”

“You can kiss me,” Virgil says. “Anywhere you can touch. Except – if its a kiss on the lips, give me a moment to see that you're coming. Don't just appear out of nowhere and lay one on me.”

Roman nods slowly.

“Like this?”

He takes a moment to make eye contact before leaning in and pressing their lips together softly. After a moment, he pulls back, smirking.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, a little dazed. “That's good – good example. And you can hold – rather, put your arms around me too, with the same rule. Make sure I know you're there first.”

Roman's arm slides between Virgil's back and the wall, and Roman steps forwards so their bodies are flush against one another. Virgil's pretty sure that he can feel a tell-tale hardness pressing against his hip, which is good because Roman must surely be able to feel the answering hardness under Virgil's skirt.

“Now, about sex,” Virgil says before he can think better of it. “Sex has its own rules. Touching below the waist is definitely allowed.”

“And how do I know if we're having sex?”

Virgil tries to think of a foolproof definition of what counts as sex and what doesn't in less than five seconds, but _that's_ a problem for the ages and halfway through the count Roman starts kissing slowly along his jawline, which again, _is not helping_.

“I'll tell you,” he says. “Or you can ask, whatever. And synonyms definitely count. So if I say –” he swallows - “ _I want you to fuck me_ …”

Roman lets out a ragged breath into the crook of Virgil's neck, and his hips roll against Virgil's just a little.

“Anxiety, my dearheart,” he says, “are we having sex right now?”

“Fuck yes,” Virgil answers, following his words with a kiss. He presses his lips against Roman's messily, hungrily, needily. The kiss only deepens when he feels Roman's hand, trailing up his leg, under his dress.

“Anxiety,” Roman says, as his thumb strokes slowly back and forth on Virgil's inner thigh, “do I have your permission to touch your cock?”

“I'm sorry, was I not clear enough about touching being allowed?” Virgil snarls.

Roman chuckles.

“You were,” he says against Virgil's ear. “But you flush so prettily when you're asking for what you want.”

Virgil groans, but Roman's hand is still not moving and he can feel Roman's smirk even without looking at his face.

“Touch my cock,” he says, “you assho – _ohhh_.”

Roman's hand strokes lightly over the front of the panties and leaves a trail of electricity in its wake. Virgil moans, and his hips buck forwards without him meaning them to.

“Those aren't boxers,” Roman says in a low voice.

“Well, you gave me so many options…” Virgil tries to sound light-hearted, but he's breathing hard and his voice trembles as Roman's hand runs along the waistband of the panties. “I was thinking of this when I put them on. I told you, I know what I want. And speaking of which – when we're having sex, taking my clothes off is definitely allowed.”

Virgil's fingers are already scrabbling at the front of Roman's pants but. Laces. _Really_?

“Taking your own clothes off is also allowed, and potentially necessary.”

Roman draws his hand away from Virgil's cock, and guides his fingers towards the right lace to tug on. His pants fall open immediately, and Virgil reaches inside. Roman isn't wearing underwear, which _definitely_ seems like an unfair advantage right now, but it means that Virgil can wrap a hand around his cock and watch him huff out a breath, pupils blown so wide that those scarlet irises are nearly swallowed by black.

Then Roman's hand is under Virgil's dress again, and there's a tearing sound, and his cock is suddenly free of its confines.

“Hey,” Virgil says softly. “I liked those panties.”

“They can be fixed.”

“Don't you have to ask before tearing a guy's clothes?”

“They aren't your clothes,” Roman says. “They're mine.”

Virgil bites his lip, but if there was ever a time to be bold, this was it, right?

“So am I,” he breathes.

That gets a response. Roman rolls his hips forward, pressing Virgil back against the wall. His hand pumps slowly along Virgil's cock, twisting a little over the head, while he kisses his way, open-mouthed and all-too-soft along the vein in Virgil's neck.

Speaking of which…

“Hickeys,” Virgil gasps. “Please tell me you've heard of them.”

Roman stops, and Virgil can feel the smirk against his skin.

“Perhaps a definition, just to be certain?”

“Dick,” Virgil says, too breathless for any real venom now. “Kissing, sucking or biting, hard enough to bruise without breaking the skin. That good enough for you?”

Roman presses another gentle kiss to Virgil's throat.

“And what of them, dear Anxiety?”

“During sex, definitely allowed.”

“And I have your permission to mark you?”

Virgil can feel his cock twitch in Roman's hand. He's pretty sure he was already flushed, but now his face is burning.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I… want you to.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Roman's mouth is back against his skin, and this time there is nothing soft about it. Roman sucks, hard, right at the sensitive corner where neck becomes collarbone, sharp teeth scraping at the skin. Virgil's knees go weak, and he's pretty sure Roman is the only thing holding him upright, and he can _feel_ the bruise blooming dark and purple on his skin, and he might be moaning too but right now that's the furthest thing from his mind.

Roman pulls away for a second, and Virgil's hand twists into a fist on the back of his shirt.

“Do that again,” he demands, his voice sounding wrecked even to his own ears.

“Gladly, Anxiety-mine.”

Roman switches to the other side of Virgil's neck and begins sucking another bruise onto him. Virgil lets out a shuddering breath, and tries to speed up his hand on Roman's cock. It's an awkward angle though, and his wrist is already starting to tire from the unfamiliar motion.

An idea comes to him.

“Gonna move a little,” he pants, in case Roman thinks he's trying to pull away. Roman shifts back perhaps an inch, just enough space that Virgil can shift sideways to where he wants to be.

Virgil presses his hips up, flush against Roman's, and wraps a hand around the both of them together.

“This okay?” he asks.

Roman bites down against the flesh of Virgil's throat. He takes that as a 'yes'.

It's easier like this, letting the motion of his hips do half the work, finding a rhythm with Roman's rolling thrusts. Virgil's cock is slicker than it has any right to be, which he suspects means Roman conjured magic lube, which is _definitely cheating_ , but Virgil uses it to his full advantage, letting his hand glide easily back and forth over their two cocks pressed together.

There is no sensation beyond the two of them: the heat of their bodies pressed together, the hot, wet sounds of them, and everywhere the scent of Roman, sweet and floral and so thick Virgil might drown in it. Virgil can feel himself getting close, and Roman's mouth has stilled with his breath coming in hard pants against Virgil's neck, while his hand strokes between Virgil's legs, cupping at his balls, drawing blunt nails over his thighs, and Virgil can hear himself saying something breathless and low-pitched and nonsensical, something that sounds like “please” and “Roman” and “come on” -

Virgil's hips snap forward, losing all rhythm, and he comes with a low moan, his world turning into a white blaze of pleasure. When he comes back to himself, his legs are shaking underneath him, and Roman has gone still against him. It's only as he feels Roman starting to soften in his grasp that Virgil realises that they both reached their orgasm together.

Virgil glances down. The two of them are a sticky mess from chest to thigh.

“Ew.”

“Anxiety,” Roman says, a little reproachfully.

Virgil laughs.

“We are objectively gross right now. Fuck, if you weren't magic, this dress would be completely ruined.”

Roman frowns at him, but obligingly steps back, presumably to do the cleaning-up magic. Only, as soon as his weight is no longer holding Virgil against the door, Virgil's knees sag alarmingly, and Roman steps forwards again in an instant, placing steadying hands on Virgil's waist and shoulder.

Virgil scowls.

“I'm fine! I can stand.” Roman is smirking. “I'm just a little light-headed.”

Virgil's stomach grumbles loudly.

“I haven't eaten!” he protests. “Okay, enough. Breakfast time.”

“As you desire.” Roman steps back, gesturing with one arm at the breakfast table across the room. The other hand is still on Virgil's waist.

Virgil looks from Roman to the table. His legs are still shaking. Gears grind in his mind.

“Carry me,” he spits out, because however embarrassing it might be, it's better than trying to walk and failing.

“I thought you could stand unaided?”

“You're going to be infuriating about this, aren't you?”

Virgil throws his arms around Roman's neck, and Roman lifts him effortlessly into the air.

“Don't go getting a big head just because you made me go weak at the knees one time,” Virgil tells him. “It's going to take much more than that to impress me.”

“Then I'll have to endeavour to repeat the performance.”

“Mmhmm. And next time, I expect you to actually get me out my clothes.”

Roman sets Virgil down on one of the high stools that line the table. At some point he didn't notice, Roman must have done the magic, because Virgil's dress is clean and dry as Roman tugs it down from where it's bunched up around his waist, smoothing it back into place. Before Roman can move away, Virgil pulls him in for a kiss. Roman brings up a hand to cup his face, and it sends a warm shiver down Virgil's spine.

Then Roman steps back, and he's smirking again.

“Don't forget these,” he says, pressing a lacy scrap of fabric into Virgil's hand. His panties.

“If I put these on, are you just going to tear them off again?”

“On that subject, I offer you no promises.”

Virgil flips Roman off as he leaves the room, laughing.

Virgil looks down at the panties in his lap, and he can't keep the smile off his face.

Today is shaping up to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Negotiating sex stuff while having sex is a bad idea in real life. However, if you're taking real-life sex tips from a fanfic about selling yourself to the fae, then I think there are probably bigger things to be concerned about.
> 
> Today's fae media recommendation is not a book, or even a movie. It's a song! [Take Advantage Of Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XIcmpgJmcM) by Seanan McGuire is only implied-fae, but I love the mood it creates and the way it spins a tempting offer to the listener. Seanan McGuire is an author too, but this song was the first of her works that I encountered and I loved it straight away. Only downside: it isn't available for purchase anywhere. There are multiple versions on YouTube though - I've linked to the live version performed by Seanan herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman makes a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting super-long so instead you get two shorter updates. Hopefully that means the next one will be soon! :-D

The next morning, Virgil wakes up in a good mood. He and Roman had sex twice more yesterday – mid-afternoon, grinding against each other on the couch in the sitting room upstairs, and in the evening, slow handjobs on the rug in front of the library fireplace.

Honestly, if this is the dangerous temptation that fairyland has to offer him, Virgil is more than happy to fall victim to it.

When he goes down for breakfast, Roman is waiting. He has his Unreadable Fae expression on, not as warm as the genuine smiles Virgil manages to startle out of him every now and then, but the sight of it is enough to send a familiar shiver down Virgil's spine.

Roman stands up as he enters the room, pulls out a chair for him to sit down.

“There's something I wish to ask of you,” he says.

Virgil rolls his eyes.

“No sex until I've finished my cornflakes,” he replies. “After yesterday, I'm absolutely starving.”

Roman's lips quirk into a smile for half a second, but then the serious look returns.

“Darling Anxiety,” he says. “Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Court Revels this evening?”

Virgil hesitates for a moment.

“What… exactly are the Court Revels?”

“A gathering of important fae, held on each new moon. A chance for conversation, dancing, and other such frivolities. Tonight is the last moon of the season, and I am expected to attend. You would be present as my guest.”

A party full of fae, all powerful and elegant and full of rules he doesn't understand.

“I'd… rather not,” he says slowly. “Thank you, but no.”

Roman nods, seriously.

Then:

“Anxiety. Will you come with me to the Court Revels this evening?”

Virgil feels the blood drain from his face.

Foolish. He let himself forget, for a minute, the terms of his presence here. He's here to do as Roman asks. If he refuses this offer twice more, then it's all over, and he's back home with nothing.

If Roman is asking twice, it means he never really had a choice.

“I-if it matters that much to you?” Virgil shrugs, although it feels forced. “Sure. I'll go.”

“Thank you.” Roman doesn't sigh, but something about him seems to relax as though he's let out a long-held breath. “The Revels begin at sunset. We can depart shortly after dinner, if that's amenable to you? I will, of course, provide you with suitable attire.”

Virgil nods, although he's only half-listening.

 

He doesn't see Roman for the rest of the day, and he feels guilty for feeling grateful for that. He's pretty sure Roman knows he doesn't want to be doing this, and is giving him space. Which is nice and all but – it's not like Virgil didn't know he might be signing up for some unpleasant activities when he made his deal. Admittedly, a big party full of fae wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but he'd offered a year and a day and he _meant_ it.

By dinner, he's a little more settled. He's going to make it through this. Even if the very thought is terrifying him.

“So,” he asks Roman. “Tonight. What are the rules?”

“Rules?” Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Virgil gestures emphatically at nothing in particular. “It's a fae thing. It's always rules, right? And if you break them, even by accident, that's when things go wrong.”

Roman blinks, then smiles slowly. Warmly.

“I suppose that's one way of looking at it.”

“So… what are they?” Virgil asks. “What do I have to do, or not do, to make it through this? Help me out here.”

Roman frowns.

“You should not be in danger tonight. As my guest, you will be under certain protections. There are few at Court who have the strength to act against me, and none have reason to harm you.”

“Even if I fuck up?”

Roman tilts his head.

“Any significant offence you caused would be my responsibility.”

Virgil furrows his brow. That doesn't sound good either.

“Come on, man, help me out here,” he pleads. “I wasn't exactly a social butterfly when it was just humans I had to deal with. What's your advice?”

Roman thinks it over for a few seconds.

“A wise mortal walking among the fae would be cautious, suspicious of every motive, alert for hidden meanings in every word. I believe you have already shown yourself capable of such an attitude.” Roman smirked. “It would beseem one to remember that everything you own has a value. Your name, your time, your words… mortals can be careless of such things, but my people are not. I would advise you to treat every conversation as barter, and offer nothing you cannot afford to give.”

His words settle like a cold weight in Virgil's stomach. Suddenly, despite the delicious food in front of him, he doesn't feel like eating another bite. He lowers his fork, and when he looks up, Roman is watching him.

“I fear I have done you a disservice, my Anxiety,” Roman says. “Most fae are quite unlike me, and will bear you no obligations. If you expected otherwise, you have my apologies.”

Laughter bubbles up in Virgil's throat. It's halfway hysterical, but he can't stop himself.

“I – no, Roman, I know. I didn't expect –“ He takes a deep breath, letting the laughter die away. “You're… not exactly what I thought a fae would be like. Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid.”

Roman smiles.

“I never dreamed that you would.”

 

Virgil goes to get changed, and there's a dress waiting for him on the door of the wardrobe. It's… different. Bright, scarlet red, for one thing, when Roman has been dressing him in purples and blacks since he arrived, but there's something else. It's floor length, sleeveless, with a deep V neckline and a slit that goes nearly the whole way up his thigh.

It takes putting it on for Virgil to realise what the problem is. This dress is… not his style. Everything else in the wardrobe has been _him_ somehow, a little bit punk, a little bit sexy. Some fit better than others, but the worst he could say about them was 'meh.'

Wearing this dress, he feels like he's dressing up in a stranger's clothes. He doesn't look like himself at all. This dress is elegant and fashionable in a way Virgil has never been – never tried to be.

It has _fae_ written all over it.

It makes Virgil feel like someone else's idea of him. He isn't sure what, exactly, his position is among the fae, except that he's Roman's. Roman's… toy? Pet? Neither of those words is good, and every other possibility he can think of is much, much worse.

It doesn't help that the dress shows too much of his collarbones, too many of the deep purpling bruises that mark his light brown skin. Everyone who sees him tonight is going to know _exactly_ what he and Roman spent yesterday doing.

Virgil wants to hide the marks under his hoodie. He wants to go downstairs and tell Roman he's not going tonight. He wants to walk away from all of this and go back to his life -

Only he doesn't want that at all.

Fuck it, right? A fae party isn't something you enjoy, it's something you _survive_. Virgil is good at surviving. And while everything about this party is making the hairs on his neck stand on end, Virgil knows one thing: Roman knows what he's doing, and he has a vested interest in Virgil getting through this.

So he follows Roman's lead. Smudges on some red-tinted lip gloss and a little glittering gold eyeshadow along with his eyeliner. Tries his best to comb back his bangs into something presentable. Stands with his shoulders back, chin up.

The man in the mirror looks nothing like him, and that's okay. He isn't Virgil tonight. He isn't even Anxiety. Tonight, he's a mortal among the fae. There's only one thing he needs to be:

Anything other than _prey_.

 

Virgil rejoins Roman at the top of the grand staircase. Roman gives him an appreciative once-over look, but he seems distracted.

“Remove your slippers, please, Anxiety dearest? You won't need them.”

Yeah, because what Virgil needed was to feel even _more_ vulnerable. He kicks them off quickly, before he can regret it.

“May I put this on you?”

Roman is holding up a thread of gold hung with a ruby charm – a bracelet. Virgil nods and offers his wrist, and Roman fastens it carefully.

“I must ask for another vow from you,” Roman says, his tone light. “That you will not remove this charm until we return here together. Do you agree to this?”

“Sure, it's a vow,” Virgil mutters.

“It will give you some measure of protection, even if we are apart,” Roman continues.

“I -”

Virgil's words catch in his throat, and suddenly whatever offhand remark he was about to make is gone, and something else is spilling out instead.

“Roman,” he says urgently. “If you think I'm in danger tonight, and there's something you can do to stop it, you have my consent to do it. Whatever it is, if you think it's the only way to keep me – or you – from getting hurt, it's allowed.”

“Anxiety.” Roman's voice is soft, but there's something in his tone that tears at Virgil's chest. If he hears one more word, he's going to fall apart.

“Don't,” he snaps. “Let's just go, okay?”

He takes Roman's arm, and the world winks out around them, and they are stood in a grassy meadow, diamond stars glittering overhead, and strange fae all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's fae media recommendation is Holly Black's Tithe/Valiant/Ironside trilogish (Ironside is a sequel to both Tithe and Valiant, but the first two are stand-alones). These books bring a hard urban fantasy edge to the fae, with a lot of emotional realism. It's been a while since my last re-read but they were favourites for a long time. I know Holly Black has a more recent fae series that came out about a year ago - I can't wait to get a hold of it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil attends a fae revel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the new tags before reading this chapter!

The meadow is beautiful. The ground is soft and warm from the heat of the day, with tiny, perfectly formed wildflowers of red, yellow and blue growing amongst the long grass. Around the edges of the clearing stand tall silver-barked trees with deep shadows spreading under their branches. There's a light breeze that refreshes without leaving a chill, and the sky above is twilight-purple, more stars visible than Virgil has ever seen before.

The fae are beautiful too, in the way that a flame is beautiful, or a panther leaping upon its prey. Skin, hair, fur, feathers of every colour surround him, glimmering and sparkling and beguiling, all of it designed to lure him in.

Virgil feels himself tense, already on high alert. From now on, everyone he meets is a potential threat.

“Your Highness!” A tall woman with waist-length dark hair and white eyes sweeps towards them. Her suit is a bright summer-sky blue. She bows to Roman, who acknowledges her with a slight nod of his head.

“How wonderful to have you among us again! It's been too long.” Her eyes fall on Virgil, and her smile widens, uncomfortably so. “And you brought a prize! Oh, isn't this one delightful.” Her eyes sweep shamelessly over Virgil's body, and he fights to keep his chin high. “Will I get a chance to taste this evening?”

Roman laughs, and it's harsher than Virgil has ever heard from him.

“I'm afraid not, darling,” he replies. “I have _plans_ for this one tonight.”

The stranger lets out a shrill laugh as Roman presses a kiss to Virgil's hair, and murmurs:

“Run along, won't you? I have some business to attend to. I'll find you later.”

Virgil is all too happy to leave the company of this woman, stumbling away into the firefly-light of the meadow with her laughter still ringing in his ears.

He walks slowly in a random direction, trying to look as though he has a destination in mind. No-one pays any attention to him. It quickly becomes clear that he might as well be a cat at a house party – he gets the occasional smile thrown his way, a couple of polite greetings which he acknowledges with a nod, but mostly the fae's eyes go right through him as if he wasn't even there.

There are all kinds of fae present. Many have the features of animals – fur or feathers or tails or paws. A couple look more animal than human, including a bear-like figure that must be more than seven foot. Others are like Roman, their inhumanity marked on their skin by strange glows or dancing lights or tattoo-like markings that shift as Virgil watches them. Some seem human until Virgil catches the flat darkness or shining gold of their eyes, or the flicker of a forked tongue – always a tiny detail of _wrongness_ , setting them apart.

To his surprise, Virgil realises that there are a significant number of humans present among the crowd. Once he notices, it's all too easy to tell the difference: the mortals are the ones with the dazed look in their eyes, pulled after fae on golden-bright leashes or gazing off into space with slumped, defeated postures. He wants to flinch away each time he catches sight of one of them, but there's nowhere here to hide, so he keeps on standing tall.

He comes to a buffet along one side of the clearing, a long table heaped high with exquisite, mouth-watering cakes and steaming-hot pastries that smell heavenly. You couldn't pay Virgil to touch a single mouthful of it. A few of the fae nearby are eating, but more are laughing at the sight of three humans who are stuffing themselves, desperately shovelling food into their mouths as fast as they can grab it.

The one nearest Virgil is a pale-skinned man, perhaps in his thirties. His mouth and hands are covered in bright crimson burns from the hot food, and the front of his shirt is damp with drool and tears. For a moment, he looks at Virgil, and his dark eyes are desperate.

Virgil turns away. He's shaking like a leaf, and his stomach is churning so hard he wonders if he might be sick. _Coward, traitor, you could save them -_

He couldn't. He has no power here. All he could possibly do is make trouble, for them and for himself. ~~_And Roman._~~

But knowing that, and feeling it, are two very different things.

He's walking blind, too distracted to even look at his surroundings, when something cool brushes over his foot, and he goes very still.

There's a pressure, slipping slowly up his ankle, encircling him like a cuff. Slowly, he twitches his dress to the side, letting his leg show through the long slit and -

There's a snake wrapped around his leg.

Every muscle in Virgil's body freezes. He fights to keep his breathing calm. _Don't panic. Panicking absolutely will not help._

He's not sure what _will_ help, but -

“Would you like some assistance?”

There's a fae, offering Virgil his hand. He's dressed, as many of the fae here are, in slightly out-of-touch clothes – a black cape and bowler hat, and bright yellow gloves. The left half of his face is patterned with snake scales.

Snake on his leg. Snake fae. Virgil doesn't believe in that kind of coincidence.

“I seem to have encountered a snake in the grass,” Virgil says, placing his hands on his hips.

The stranger withdraws his proffered hand, and his eyes go dramatically wide.

“My little friends do get away from me sometimes,” he comments. “I could remove her for you.”

He makes no motion to do so.

“If she's yours, you're entirely welcome to her,” Virgil informs him. “You can have her back any time you like.”

“He needs your permission to touch you,” says a voice from behind Virgil in a stage-whisper. He manages not to jump, but only barely. The snake hisses lazily at him.

“He doesn't need to touch me to pick up his snake,” Virgil replies, and the snake-faced fae scowls.

“Indeed not,” says another voice. “Particularly since the snake on your leg is entirely illusory.”

There's a sound like snapping fingers, and the snake dissolves into a shower of yellow-green sparks.

Virgil quickly tugs his dress back over his legs, and turns to see the two fae who have joined them. The first, stood a hair too close and smiling broadly at him, is a small man whose tan-brown skin is speckled with bright blue feathers across his arms and bare chest. He wears a cape of silvery fur and… not much else, actually. Virgil quickly averts his eyes upwards.

Behind him stalks a second fae. Unusually, where most fae don't correspond to any human race Virgil's ever heard of, this one looks East Asian, Japanese perhaps – but there are sharp-pointed wolf ears on the top of his head, and his thick, blue-black sideburns extend down his neck and disappear into the collar of his grey Victorian-style waistcoat.

“My mistake,” the snake-faced fae says, hissing a little on the 's'. A perfect copy of the snake Virgil thought he was encountering slithers out from his sleeve and up his arm.

“Yes, well, your attempt at trickery has failed,” the wolf fae says with a sigh, “so I suggest you depart.”

“Bye!” calls the feathered fae as he slinks away.

Virgil feels himself tense up again as the two faes' attention shifts back onto him.

“I'm Patton!” the feathered fae introduces himself. “And this is Logan!”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. Does he look that stupid?

“I don't give away my name to strangers.”

To his surprise, Patton claps gleefully, his smile stretching even wider.

“Ooh, I like you! Lo, he's so smart! I wanna play with him, what do you think?”

Virgil doesn't know what 'play' means exactly in this context, but he definitely doesn't like it.

“I came here with someone,” he says quickly. “I don't know if he likes to share.”

“Guessing game!” Patton gasps. “Who could it be? Hmm, is Peaseblossom using 'he' again?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Logan steps forward, looking Virgil up and down with a faintly bored expression. “He reeks of Summer. Combine that with the colour, and he can only be – Roman's…”

Virgil wonders if he imagines the fae trailing off slightly on that last word, but then Logan and Patton exchange a Meaningful Look of some kind. Virgil doesn't know what they're communicating to each other, but it's putting him on edge.

“We can escort you back to him,” Logan says quickly.

“No payback!” Patton adds. “We're happy to help out!”

Virgil frowns. He doesn't trust that kind of offer at all, but he desperately wants to be back with the one person here he knows.

“You can walk where you wish,” he says slowly. “And I may choose to follow you a while.”

Logan gives him a quick, approving nod.

“He'll be with the rest of the Court, I expect. Come on, Pat.”

He takes Patton by the hand and tugs him forward to walk ahead of Virgil, although Patton throws frequent looks back over his shoulder. Virgil keeps a careful eye on his surroundings, watching where he's being led, but they stay in the clearing and it's only a couple of minutes before he catches sight of Roman up ahead.

“Lo, Pat!” Roman greets them with a bright smile. His expression dims slightly as he notices Virgil with them. “I see you've met Anxiety.”

As much as he wants to collapse against Roman and ask if they can _please_ go home, Virgil isn't going to show weakness so easily. He steps up to Roman's side like he belongs there. Roman smiles and offers an arm, which Virgil rests his hand lightly on. To those around them, it might seem almost possessive. Roman can almost certainly feel Virgil shaking.

Patton and Logan watch this exchange with looks of amusement and concern respectively. Logan clears his throat, which sounds especially pointed coming from someone who probably can't even get catarrh.

“You did not inform us that you were entertaining guests,” he says. It's a cliché to say that around fae, mortals feel weak and insignificant and stupid – but this one has the 'I'm talking to an idiot' voice down to a science.

Roman laughs it off, though.

“This one stumbled across my path and I took a fancy,” he says. “I thought we should make an appearance tonight, we shan't stay long. But, if you want to get to know him better… you're always welcome to visit my lands.”

Roman's tone is dripping filth, but Logan nods seriously, and even Patton furrows his brow. Again, Virgil is certain that something has been communicated that he doesn't have the familiarity to understand.

“We'll come see you soon!” Patton says eagerly. “I'd love to spend more time with you, Anxiety!”

Logan fixes Roman with a flat look.

“Deceit was sniffing around him. Keep an eye out, would you?”

Roman nods, and Logan turns and sweeps away, pulling Patton after him even as the bird fae waves goodbye.

“Are you alright?” Roman's voice is a breath in his ear.

Virgil nods, stiffly. He doesn't quite trust his voice.

“A little longer,” Roman says. “There's just one more -”

He stiffens, and his head is away from Virgil's in a moment. A moment later, a figure sweeps out of the crowd. She's surrounded by a small cluster of followers and hangers-on, but it's clear that this fae holds real power. Roman bows at her approach, murmuring: “Your majesty.”

She looks like a twelve year old girl. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Entirely human, from head to toe.

Virgil freezes in place.

“My Prince.” The girl's tone is commanding, but her voice is still that of a child's. “I heard you had a new conquest with you.” Her eyes flicker to Virgil's for just a moment, and he feels light-headed. “You should teach it some respect.”

It's as though a magnet has been turned on. Virgil fights the tug for half a second, muscles instinctively locking – before his brain catches up, realises _you can go mad that way_ , and he lets himself drop to his knees.

Fae compulsion. There's no fighting it. You can protect yourself, with the right charms or talismans, with iron against your skin or a rune tattooed inside your lips. But this girl, whoever she is, seems to have overpowered Roman's bracelet as though it was nothing.

Virgil doesn't struggle – it's too much to risk, for something as small as his dignity. He keeps his head down, and listens to the sharp words flying overhead.

“Believe me,” Roman says, “there is _much_ I intend to teach this one.”

“Stubborn.” The girl's voice is cold as ice, and full of distaste.

“I enjoy a challenge,” Roman quips back.

“Does that explain the state of my Western borders?”

“A few minor scuffles is hardly a crisis, your Majesty.” Roman laughs. “You must allow me something to keep myself occupied.”

The girl sniffs.

“Enjoy your night, _my_ _Prince_.” Her voice curls menacingly on the last words. “I'm sure you have, as always, a great many plans. Perhaps next time we meet, you shall have something to show for them?”

There's a chorus of laughter, fading into the distance as the group moves slowly away. Virgil's muscles sag as the control locking them in place is suddenly released, and he's free to move again. He falls forward, onto his hands. A moment later, Roman is helping him to his feet, banishing the mud from his dress with a wave of his hand.

Virgil crosses his arms.

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps.

“The Queen,” Roman answers, and with shock, Virgil realises Roman sounds afraid.

The shake in Roman's voice takes all the fight of him. Virgil sighs.

“Do you need me to stay any longer?”

Roman's look of gratitude makes Virgil's stomach ache.

“No, we're leaving,” Roman says, and relief washes over Virgil like the tide. “I can't take us from here – this way.”

He wraps an arm around Virgil's shoulders as they walk, as if sheltering him from the non-existent cold. Virgil leans into Roman's side as much as he can without slowing them down. He wants to be out of this place as soon as possible.

They're almost at the trees at the edge of the clearing when Roman goes suddenly still. Then, without warning, they're kissing, his hand gentle on Virgil's chin even as it tilts his head a little further back than is strictly comfortable.

Every muscle in Virgil's body tenses. A part of him wants to melt into it, but then his mind remembers what his body knew instantly: _Roman doesn't have consent for this_. He has to warn Virgil first, for a kiss on the lips. Which means if he's doing this…

There's the sound of music, moving closer to them out of the woods, dancing flutes and a booming drum, and fae voices shrieking with laughter. Something else too, below it all, right on the edge of hearing – a faint and whimpering sound, gasped between panting breaths.

Virgil's eyes snap open, an inch from Roman's. They look at each other for a second, and then Virgil lets himself go limp.

Roman pulls Virgil's head to rest against his shoulder, hand curled possessively in Virgil's hair, and Virgil buries his face against Roman's neck. Roman calls out some kind of greeting, while Virgil counts breaths against his collarbone, fighting the urge to turn his head and look. Surely whatever's happening can't be worse than he's imagining -

Could it?

It feels like an age before the sounds of the group have passed, and Roman is pulling Virgil onwards again. He keeps his eyes tight shut, stumbling blind until he feels gravel underfoot, hears a door opening, and they're walking into Roman's foyer. They're safe. They're home.

Virgil runs a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. Then he makes the mistake of looking down at his feet, and that's when he sees the blood drops, sprayed across his legs.

Not his. Unmistakeably human.

Something inside of Virgil shatters, and he drops to the ground, and starts to weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's fae media recommendation is another Sanders Sides fanfic. [Call It Fae-t](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580741) by Jackfruit was one of the major inspirations for this AU and particularly for feathered!Patton as introduced here! This fic has a beautifully dark fae-human relationship between Patton and Logan, and some lovely worldbuilding to boot. Well worth checking out!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Roman put some pieces back together.

Virgil curls up, his face pressed against his knees, his breath coming in rough gasps. There's no fighting the wave of panic as it sweeps over him, leaving him shaking and helpless on the floor. Roman tries to touch his arm at one point, but when Virgil jerks away, he doesn't try again.

A little while later – actually, it feels like forever, but past experience has taught Virgil it was probably only a few minutes – the screaming, tearing feeling inside him begins to subside, and Virgil can breathe again. He lets his lungs fall into the familiar pattern – 4-7-8, 4-7-8 – and tries to think reassuring thoughts.

 _I'm alive_. _I'm alive. I'm alive._

When he looks up, Roman is crouched down a short distance away, watching him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, quietly.

Virgil bites his lip to keep himself from reflexively spilling apologies. He takes a couple more breaths, composes himself.

“The things that were happening to the humans there,” he says, and Roman stiffens. “Do you… do things like that?”

He has a way out. If he doesn't like Roman's answer, all it takes is walking off the estate, and they're done. Virgil can walk out of this right now, if he needs to.

Roman is quiet for a long time before answering.

“I used to, once. I deeply regret doing so.” For a moment, his expression darkens in a way Virgil has never seen before. “I… would do so again only if threatened with something more painful to me than that regret.”

Virgil nods. There's a part of him that wants to hate Roman, for being a fae, for once being a part of something terrible, for having the capacity to do so again. But Roman's regret seems genuine… and Virgil can't help but notice that he could have simply said 'no' without needing to lie. He didn't. He gave Virgil the full truth.

“Give me a hand up?” Virgil asks, reaching out.

Roman pulls him to his feet instantly, but when he goes to let go, Virgil keeps his fingers locked around Roman's palm.

“Can I not… be alone right now?” he asks.

For a moment, Roman seems like he's about to ask if this is okay, but he doesn't and Virgil is thankful for that. Instead, he gives a slow, overstated flirtatious smile.

“My room or yours?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Whichever's closest.”

They walk up the stairs hand-in-hand, and its awkward, perhaps, but Virgil doesn't care. He's still shaking, and the warmth of Roman's hand feels too much like a lifeline.

He lets himself be led into Roman's bedroom, and, when Roman gestures him to sit, collapses gratefully on the edge of the four-poster bed. Roman regards him for a moment, then presses a kiss to his hair and murmurs, “I'll be back in a moment,” before retreating to the bathroom.

He doesn't know quite what he's expecting. He definitely doesn't know what he _wants_ right now. But when Roman reappears, holding a bowl of warm water and a couple of towels, he's definitely surprised.

“I thought you might like a hand cleaning up?”

Suddenly, Virgil can feel the sweat on his brow like a sheen of grime. Roman kneels at his feet, wets a cloth, and presses it gently to his face. Virgil leans into the feeling of freshness like a benediction.

“Couldn't you just – you know.” Virgil waves his hands in a mimicry of Roman's magic.

“Some things are better done by hand.” Roman smiles at him. “Would you like to take off that awful dress?”

“Fuck yes.”

Virgil stands, turns so that Roman can undo the zip for him. As soon as the dress hits the floor, he kicks it away from him. Roman snatches it off the floor, and tosses it into the fireplace, where it catches light in a bright burst of flame.

Roman turns back to Virgil with a playful smirk.

“Much better,” he says.

Virgil makes no move to cover himself, even though he's wearing nothing but boxers. He isn't even cold, not in this cosy bedroom with its roaring fire. As for Roman, he gets an impatient huff.

“Weren't you in the middle of something?”

“Of course.”

Roman picks up the cloth again, running it over Virgil's exposed skin – neck, collarbones, arms, chest. Virgil shivers as the water drips down his spine, but Roman wraps a warm towel around his shoulders, which he uses to half-heartedly rub himself dry.

Then Roman drops to his knees in front of Virgil, and his brain stops working.

Roman smiles, with just a hint of raised eyebrow.

“It would be easier to wash your feet if you sat down,” he says.

“Oh.”

Virgil blushes a little, and all but falls back onto the bed. He lets Roman guide his feet into the basin, watches the blood swirl into a pale stain in the water and disappear.

There's a lump in his throat. It's been a long day, and something about this is almost more than he can handle.

Almost, but not quite.

Roman dries each foot gently, holding then in his lap. When he finishes, he looks up at Virgil.

“Can we sleep?” Virgil asks, simply.

“Of course.”

Virgil doesn't wait for any more permission than that. He crawls under the covers, curling up and closing his eyes. He's only half-aware of the sounds of Roman getting changed, moving around the room. The lights go out, and he feels Roman climbing onto the bed behind him.

There's a hand on his arm, touch light and questioning. Virgil takes hold of it, and pulls Roman's arm around his waist.

Only then does he fall asleep.

 

Virgil is face-down against the mattress, large hands holding down his wrists, the warm weight of a body against his back. Hot, heavy breaths are falling on the back of his neck, and every inch of him is burning with pleasure, crying out for _more_ , but he's pinned firm, unable to get the leverage he needs.

“Easy, Anxiety,” Roman says, his voice low and commanding. “I'm in control here.”

He rolls his hips slowly, sinking deeper inside inch by teasing inch. Virgil moans -

And wakes up.

He's curled up in bed, the warmth of Roman nestled up behind him – which, to be fair, is probably because Virgil is hugging one of Roman's arms tight against his chest. Virgil lets go, heat rushing to his face.

There's heat rushing somewhere else too, but he'll deal with that problem in a minute.

“Good morning, Anxiety.” Roman presses a gentle kiss against his shoulder-blade, and Virgil can feel the start of Roman's smile curving against his skin as he pulls away. “Pleasant dreams?”

“You could say that.”

“Hmm?”

Damn it. Roman making that amused, interested noise right against Virgil's ear is really not helping the situation.

“You were in it,” Virgil says, only a little breathless.

“I was? And what were we doing?”

Virgil half-rolls over in order to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh. _That_ kind of dream.” Roman chuckles, his voice going low, and Virgil bites his lip at the sound. It's getting harder and harder – _heh_ – not to just reach down and touch, even if Roman is right here -

“Can I taste?”

Virgil's breath catches in his throat.

Roman looks as surprised by his words as Virgil is. His eyes grow wide, and then he looks away, opens his mouth to say something -

“Nope, no, no take-backs,” Virgil babbles out quickly. Then he realises what he said, and - “Well, I mean, you can, I'm not going to make you, but don't apologise, I – _yes_ , please, want you to -”

Virgil is half-whining already, tugging on Roman's shoulders, trying to push him to where he wants him. Roman obliges, slipping under the covers, pressing a couple of quick kisses to Virgil's abdomen as he moves down the bed. Virgil feels hands at the waistband of his boxers, and has enough presence of mind to lift his hips as Roman slides them off, but then the hot, wet heat of Roman's mouth is on him and -

 _Oh_.

Roman takes Virgil into his mouth in one smooth motion, no preamble, and lightning sparks in Virgil's veins. Roman sucks, the pressure almost too much and still not enough, and then when he starts to move… Virgil's head falls back against the pillow, mouth shaping a silent litany of prayers to whatever deity invented blowjobs.

Virgil is trying to be polite, but nothing about this is slow or gentle, and his hips buck up without permission, thrusting deeper into Roman's mouth. Roman swallows him smoothly, no hint of gag reflex which – yeah, _that_ figures. Virgil buries the fingers of one hand into Roman's hair, grips his shoulder with the other – carefully, ready to let go at a moment's notice – and then rolls his hips upwards again.

Roman presses forwards to meet him, swallowing him down to the hilt, and things don't last long after that.

Virgil's orgasm barrels into him faster than expected, and he doesn't even have a chance to warn Roman before he's coming down Roman's throat. Roman stills, but he makes no move to pull off, just keeps sucking and licking and swallowing until Virgil, squirming with sensitivity, tugs him gently away.

Roman appears again from under the covers – lips swollen and red, hair a mess, grinning like the cat that got the cream – and Virgil might be too exhausted to move right now, but he has enough energy to pull Roman towards him for a kiss, even though the taste of cum makes him pull a face afterwards.

“You… need a hand with anything?” Virgil asks, even though his bones feel heavy and moving sounds like a terrible idea.

“Not presently,” Roman answers.

Virgil makes an apologetic noise.

“Sorry, that was kind of selfish of me. I -”

Roman silences him with a look, and follows it with a gentle, closed-mouthed kiss.

“It was freely given, Anxiety,” he says. “And greatly enjoyed.”

Virgil stares up at the ceiling, not quite sure what to say. ~~S~~ ~~earching for some thread of conversation to follow that doesn't lead back to last night.~~

Then something occurs to him.

“So these dreams.” He rolls onto his side to look Roman in the eye. “They're magic, right?”

Roman looks almost guilty for a half-second before schooling his expression, and Virgil snorts.

“I fucking knew it.”

“It was hardly secret!” Roman protests. “I asked you to dream of me the first night we met – or are my words so easily forgotten?”

“Perhaps, but you did _not_ say 'dream of me naked.' I would definitely have remembered that.”

“Have they all been so… explicit?”

Virgil opens his mouth to say 'yes', but hesitates.

“… Not the last couple of days,” he admits. “Not since we first -”

Roman's smirk grows unreasonably wide.

“Then I believe you have your solution.”

Virgil smacks him gently on the arm.

“Hold on – how come you don't already know what they're about? If you're causing them, I mean.”

“It isn't so simple,” Roman explains. “As you say, my instruction was… somewhat vague. The exact form of each dream is determined by your own mind… although it is also influenced by my changing essence, day to day.”

“So you're saying that the dreams are sexy because we're both horny assholes?”

“In a word? Yes.”

Virgil snorts with laughter, burying his face in his hands. Roman keeps his smug expression for about half a second more before cracking up as well.

“My darling Anxiety, I apologise for any distress. I did not intend this but… dreams are difficult, even for those who specialise in them. And I am most definitely not a specialist.”

“So, what are you a specialist in?” Virgil asks. “Apart from mind-blowing sex, of course.”

Roman's smugness level suddenly increases hundredfold.

“No,” Virgil says, flat with disbelief. He falls back against the pillow, unable to meet Roman's eye.

“There are four broad areas of magical power,” Roman says. “I was born with an inclination towards Summer magic – traditionally described as the power of desire.” He raises an eyebrow. “I have my favourite desires to play upon, as you have already guessed.”

“Sex magic,” Virgil says, wondering when exactly this became his life.

Roman puts a hand on his shoulder, and Virgil looks over to see an expression of concern.

“I have not used any magic upon your mind since you came here,” Roman says, slowly. “Nothing that is not freely given, remember?”

“No, yeah, I – I remember.”

But there's something gnawing quietly in Virgil's stomach, something he can't quite name. Or perhaps it's just hunger. Speaking of which -

“Is there any reason you need to get up this morning?”

Roman smiles.

“None I care to concern myself with. Why?”

Virgil grins.

“Cause I was thinking that if you could manage to give me, say, half an hour and some French toast, then we could try to make a few more dreams come true.”

Roman chuckles.

“Anything to ensure you sleep soundly, my Anxiety.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's fae book recommendation is Lips Touch by Laini Taylor. This is a collection of three short stories, each of which includes a kiss that has serious consequences for the kisser's soul. One of the stories is about fae, another about demons, and a third I can't recall which, but has some elements of both. All three are very powerful and well-told, from an author who specialises in beautiful prose and intricate world-building. Check it out!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil has a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mention of skin picking on this chapter.

Virgil is fine.

He and Roman fall back into some kind of routine. Dinner, the library, sex. Not that the sex is routine – it's incredible, always, the things Roman can do to him with hands and mouth and the look in his eyes, only –

Virgil can feel it simmering inside him. He can see the wave coming, the one that's about to sweep him into dangerous waters far from shore. But there's not a damn thing he can do about it.

It's three days before it happens. He wakes from a dream – hazy and indistinct in his memory, although still with a feeling of Roman that he recognises now. His pillow is damp with tears he cannot remember crying, and he just _knows_.

He wishes today didn't exist.

Every thought feels like it's moving through fog, some fluid inside him so viscous and murky that it colours the world in shades of grey. It's almost like having the flu – no, not the flu, chicken pox, like his skin is itching all over and he has nothing to distract from the miserable task of not scratching at it. The itching Virgil feels is inside his skin, but he still wants to _pick_ , wants to dig his fingernails into the wound and tear at it until it bleeds, if that would only grant a moment of relief from feeling this way.

But it won't. He knows that, from long and bitter experience. So he forces himself out of the bed, even though gravity seems to weigh on him three times as strongly as usual.

He splashes some water on his face instead of showering, and dresses quickly. No skirt today – he can't even bring himself to open the wardrobe doors. He digs out some jeans and a worn T-shirt from his rucksack, and throws his old hoodie on over the top. The mortal-world fabric feels coarse against his skin, but at least it's still familiar. It still feels like home.

Having forced himself to move, he can't seem to sit still all day. The spacious rooms feel like they're closing in on him, the warm air suffocating against his skin. He goes outside and wanders the gardens instead, pacing around the maze and the reflection pool.

He stays away from the edges of the estate. A day like this, he doesn't trust himself. What if he just bolted, away from here, left this deal and this whole stupid thing behind him?

… And end up where? Back home with nothing to show for it and nowhere to go? Or worse, stuck in some other fae's territory – ~~a fae who was at that revel -~~

_No._

He forces his thoughts away, slaps the hand away from the itch. Walks faster, until he's running, his legs aching and his lungs burning but he doesn't slow down, doesn't stop until he's on the verge of collapse, eyes watering with the pain of it.

He half-falls onto a bench tucked away in an alcove. The white marble is cold beneath him.

His lips form the word “Roman” without a thought.

Roman steps out from behind a hedge a few seconds later. He approaches slowly, not getting close enough to touch until after Virgil makes eye contact with him. He sits at the far end of the bench, with an expression that, if he didn't know better, Virgil would call concerned.

“Not sneaking up on me today?” Virgil asks. “Wow, I really must look like crap.”

“You hardly seem yourself, my racing heart.”

Virgil snorts.

“This is absolutely me,” he says. “You don't know me all that well, Princey.”

Roman hesitates, but his expression doesn't change.

“A poor choice of words, perhaps,” he concedes.

Then he falls silent. He just sits and waits, watching Virgil, and the itching grows until it's unbearable, until it's clawing its way up his throat -

“I need to know more about what's going on,” Virgil spits out.

Roman blinks at him. Virgil feels the bloodied relief of pulling open a half-healed scab.

“What's it going to cost me?” Virgil demands, before Roman has the chance to speak.

“Cost?”

“I know how this works. If I want something, we make a deal. I'm not going to be tricked into a debt I can't repay.” He hesitates. “I don't know what I have left to barter with, though. You've got me for a whole year. Unless I offer up my name -”

“ _No_.”

Virgil blinks. Roman interrupted him, which he isn't sure he's ever done before. Roman's expression for a moment is fierce – but in the span of a heartbeat, it melts into a charming smile, and Virgil almost doubts that he ever saw that fire flash in Roman's eyes.

“I will not be tricked either, little Anxiety,” Roman tells him. “Your name is too valuable a currency for me to repay fairly. Do you want me in your debt?”

His tone is light, teasing, but Virgil's heart skips a beat.

“But you have more to barter than you credit yourself,” Roman continues. “Information. We trade a question for a question. Your words for mine, Anxiety, and no-one can claim an unfair deal.”

Virgil looks into Roman's eyes for a long moment, no sound but the wind in his ears.

Then he nods.

Roman tilts his head.

“What was it you wanted to know?”

“Why am I here?”

Virgil turns his head away, fixing his eyes on the ground before he continues.

“It took me a minute, you know? You said that you hadn't used any magic to manipulate me _since I came here_. But when we first met? There was a moment where I looked into your eyes, and you asked what I wanted from you, and everything started spinning and I told you… something I hadn't planned on saying. You… tricked me, into asking for more than I wanted, asking for more than I could afford – which means that you wanted me _here_. And I would like to know why.”

He turns back, and Roman's expression is that implacable fae detachment. It's easy to pretend it was never anything but.

“What'll that cost me?” Virgil asks, one eyebrow raised.

Roman shrugs and leans back.

“I said like for like, didn't I? If you want to know what brought me to that clearing -” he flashes a grin - “I want to know what brought you there.”

Virgil starts a little. He wasn't expecting that.

“I was broke and out of ideas,” he answers quickly, with more than a little attitude.

“And I have a thing for mortal men in tight skirts.” Roman smirks. “Come now, Anxiety. We made a deal. You get what you pay for.”

“You want the whole tragic backstory? Fine. My mom died when I was fourteen.” Virgil takes a breath. “My dad was already long gone, so I finished high school in a foster home. They tried but – my grades were crap, and I didn't know how to handle anything, let alone adulthood. There was no way I was getting into college. So I turned eighteen, got a shitty apartment that I paid for with a series of shitty jobs that did shitty things like firing me without notice. And one day the money ran out, and I decided… if I'm going to do something drastic, I might as well do it properly.”

Roman nods slowly. To Virgil's surprise, there's no pity in his eyes, just cold acceptance.

Then he starts to speak.

“Her Royal Majesty has expressed doubts lately about my loyalty to her… ideals. It was _suggested_ to me that I should find myself a… mortal on whom I could demonstrate a suitable contempt.” Roman gives a wry smile. “It was a suggestion I had every intention of refusing.”

Virgil's surprise must show on his face. He'd been listening to Roman's words with a stomach that felt full of lead, but he hadn't expected this.

“When you arrived in the clearing, I almost let you leave but – you were so full of desire. Half of you wanting to flee, the rest wanting to run headlong into the unknown. It caught my attention and I -” Roman pauses. “I began to think of a plan, that with the help of a willing mortal, could convince the court into believing in what they wished to see of me, without… without a need for harm.”

Virgil feels a chill creeping over him, in spite of the warm weather.

“You want to play a trick on the Queen?”

“You don't have to help,” Roman says quickly. “I cannot… if things go wrong, she is unpredictable, and you know I cannot protect you against her will.”

Yes. Virgil knew that all too well.

“Anxiety.” Roman reaches out for his hand, hesitating until Virgil reaches back before taking it. “If you wish to break our deal and leave, you may do so now without consequence. You need only say so.”

“I'll stay.”

Roman smiles so bright Virgil has to look away.

“You're certain?”

Virgil shrugs. “Whatever you have planned… if you ask me and it's too much, I can always say 'no', right? Besides, we've already established that I have nothing worth going back to in the mortal world. And you aren't charging me rent.”

Roman squeezes his hand, and Virgil's heart aches for a moment. But, he realises belatedly, the itch inside him has disappeared without a trace.

“Shall we return inside?” Roman asks softly. “It's almost time for dinner.”

“… Sure.”

They walk back to the house together. The whole way, Roman doesn't let go of Virgil's hand.

 

When they retire to the library that evening, Roman surprises Virgil. He hesitates for a moment by his usual writing desk, and then sits instead on one of the plush velvet couches.

“Are you reading tonight?” he asks.

Virgil frowns. His first thought is that Roman wants to have sex but – the fae is looking pensive, far from his usual cockiness when it comes to sexual matters.

“I was going to,” he replies. “That okay?”

Roman bites his lip.

“May I join you?”

“Reading?” Virgil asks. Roman sounds so shy, and suddenly there's a smile pulling at the corners of Virgil's lips that he has to fight to keep hidden. “Sure, if you want.”

“You can choose whatever you wish, but I… would enjoy hearing you read.”

Virgil only stumbles for a moment on his way over to his favourite bookshelf. He hadn't realised Roman meant _out_ _loud_. But… yeah. He can do this.

He runs his finger over the shelf of books from the mortal world. They're mostly old volumes – he's read Dumas and Shelley and Wells since coming here, more classics than he ever thought he'd read outside of lit class. But as his eyes land on one particular volume, he knows that his choice for tonight is made.

He settles himself on the sofa next to Roman, taking a minute to get comfortable. He winds up sitting sideways with his feet curled up on the couch, his head tucked in against Roman's collarbone. He holds the book in his lap with both hands, and Roman's arm comes to rest lightly over his, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against Virgil's wrist.

Virgil takes a deep breath, and opens up the book: Grimms' Fairy Tales.

“Once upon a time,” he says, “there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a little riding hood of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never wear anything else; so she was always called 'Little Red Riding Hood'…”

He pauses for a moment, and Roman presses a kiss against the top of his head. Virgil smiles, and continues reading. They stay like that all evening, Virgil reading softly from the book of tales, with no sound to disturb them but the crackle of the fire and the gentle rhythm of Roman's heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's fae book recommendation is The Cruel Prince by Holly Black. I only just read this book for the first time a couple of weeks ago, and I really enjoyed it! It's full of tense fae politics and courtly drama, with one hell of a cliffhanger ending. I look forward to reading the sequel soon.
> 
> If you want to hang out with me (and hear my excuses for not updating more frequently) you can now do so on my Discord server: <https://discord.gg/YsEQWwa>


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil gets taken by surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for implied gore.

It's 2am, and Virgil can't sleep.

This isn't a particularly unusual circumstance. In fact, it's unusual that Virgil _has_ been sleeping well most nights since he got here. But tonight, for whatever reason ~~almost definitely~~ ~~related to~~ ~~the stress of the last few days~~ he wakes up, and he can't fall asleep again.

He decides to get up and get himself a midnight snack. He's not entirely clear on whether he _has_ to be in the kitchen to summon food, but he could do with a change of scenery anyway. He throws on a sheer robe over his boxers – it's not like anyone except Roman might see him anyway – and walks down to the kitchen.

He opens the cupboard and stares inside for a minute or so before settling on some crackers. He closes the cupboard door, and –

There's someone there. _Right_ there behind the cupboard door.

And it's not Roman.

“Hi, Anxiety!”

Virgil screams, as loud as he fucking can, and staggers back against the counter. Grasping behind him, his hand closes around the knife block. He draws one of the large cooking knives, and drives it into the stranger's chest.

The figure looks down, frowning.

“Ow!”

The light flickers on as Roman appears out of thin air, a look of concern on his face. When he surveys the scene, he chuckles.

“My apologies, Anxiety. I should have warned you we had guests.” He smirks. “It seems your instincts are good as ever, my little stinging wasp.”

A couple of moments after Roman, another figure appears next to him. It takes Virgil a moment or two to remember his face – it's Logan, from the revel. Only now he's wearing thick-framed black glasses.

As is the figure beside Virgil – the small, feather-covered figure…

“Patton,” Logan says, in a long-suffering tone of voice. “Please don't sneak up on mortals when they aren't expecting you.”

“I didn't sneak!” Patton protests. “I just walked normally. I even said hi!”

“Mortal hearing is rather less acute,” Logan reminds him. “And I believe your greeting may have… startled Anxiety somewhat.”

He gestures to the knife in Patton's chest. Patton frowns down at it, before pulling it clean out. Greenish-black blood oozes out of the wound, but not nearly as much as Virgil might have expected. Patton puts the knife down, apparently unconcerned by the hole in his chest.

Oh right. Fae kitchen. The knives here are brass or tin. No steel, no iron. Nothing that would do Patton much harm.

… Virgil feels kind of dizzy.

“I thought you told me we had to wear pants!” Patton protests. “He isn't -”

Roman's hand lands softly on Virgil's elbow, and he starts a little. He didn't notice the fae approaching.

Apparently that's a theme for the night.

“Anxiety, dearest,” Roman says softly. “Perhaps you should return to bed? We can discuss this in the morning.”

Virgil nods, and Roman wraps an arm around his waist, guiding him out of the room. It's not an unusual level of touching for them, not at this point, but… it feels different, now it's happening in front of people. It feels like _more_.

Logan and Patton continue to bicker behind them as Roman walks Virgil upstairs.

“I am sorry,” Roman says again. “They arrived after you retired for the night, and I didn't wish to wake you. They were going to stay for a few days, but if their presence upsets you –”

“It's fine,” Virgil interrupts. “Patton just took me by surprise.”

“I am truly impressed by your aim,” Roman comments. “Had the weapon been capable of it, that could have been a mortal blow.”

“Thanks. I think.” Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Goodnight, Roman.”

“Sleep well, sweet shadow,” Roman replies, pressing a gentle kiss to his brow.

 

Breakfast the next morning is an… interesting affair.

Once he's more awake, Virgil realises that Patton and Logan are both dressed very differently to how they were last time Virgil met them. In addition to their glasses, they're each wearing _polo shirts_ of all things. Patton's is a bright blue which perfectly matches his feathers, and is paired with khakis that make him look like a PTA dad, except for the – again – _feathers_. Logan on the other hand, is wearing a black shirt, jeans and a tie. He could be at work for the Geek Squad, if not for the short sleeves revealing that the thick black fur on his neck and shoulders also extends down to his forearms, and also that his glasses are hooked by a fine silver-coloured chain over his _wolf ears_.

… Although, to be fair, Virgil is currently wearing purple strap-fronted trousers that look like Roman has been experimentally cross-breeding ripped skinny jeans with lace-up leather pants, and a halter top which clings to the planes of his body so tightly he suspects magic is involved. So maybe he shouldn't be judging people on their outfits.

So, instead:

Patton and Logan _are_ nothing like they were at the Revel. That night they seemed aloof, tense, serious, full of mysterious meaning Virgil couldn't understand. This morning, in Roman's kitchen, they laugh easily with each other. Patton teases Roman about being a late riser; in return, Roman makes some in-joke which Logan explains to Virgil good-naturedly, if somewhat stuffily. It couldn't be clearer that the three of them have been friends a long, long time.

It also couldn't be clearer that Logan and Patton are a couple. No, that becomes very obvious after Patton goes to give Logan a peck on the cheek and winds up perched in his lap instead, French kissing him with significant enthusiasm. Roman doesn't blink at this display, but Virgil is beginning to wonder if he should leave before the clothes come off when Logan finally catches his eye and awkwardly ends the make-out session.

“Aww, honeybee…” Patton protests.

Logan coughs awkwardly. “Mortals generally prefer not to engage in extended, uh, Public Displays of Affection.”

He pronounces it so that Virgil can hear the capital letters.

“Oh.” Patton frowns. “Sorry, Anxiety! I didn't know you didn't like kissing.”

Roman smirks. Virgil shoots him a glare.

“I don't mind you kissing in front of me,” he says. “Just so long as it isn't about to turn into anything else.”

Logan looks faintly abashed, but Patton just smiles.

“Oh, okay! I'll keep that in mind.”

He jumps off Logan's lap, and readjusts his glasses, which had been knocked askew.

Virgil frowns.

“Do you actually need those?” he asks, without thinking.

“He thinks they look 'cute'.” Logan answers before Patton can. “Fae don't experience myopia.”

Patton makes a sudden noise of protest, and even Roman looks concerned for some reason.

“Lo-Lo!” Patton scolds. “At least one fae does!”

“I'm… lost,” Virgil says slowly.

“I was born a mortal,” Logan explains flatly, then turns back to his breakfast as though Virgil's world isn't tipping off its axis at those words.

“Wait,” Virgil says. “Wait. That's a _thing_?”

Roman claps his hands eagerly, trilling: “Story time!”

“Oh, yes, please Logan! I love hearing you tell it!”

Logan rolls his eyes at Patton's enthusiasm, but he's smiling at the same time.

“Alright,” he says. “I was born human, in Nihon – Japan, rather. As a young man, I emigrated to America, seeking my fortune in the Washington Territory, as it was then.”

Virgil blinks.

“What year was this?”

“1878,” Logan answers, brow twitching slightly.

“You're _a hundred and fifty years old_?”

“A hundred and sixty three, actually.”

Roman rubs a hand on Virgil's back.

“Anxiety, dearest, you do know that both Patton and I are both far older than that?”

“And if I asked how old you are?” Virgil shoots back. “Would that be like-for-like?”

“If you wish.” Roman smirks. Patton and Logan are watching the two of them with interested looks.

“… I'm twenty-seven,” Virgil answers.

Roman leans forward, murmuring in his ear.

“And I'm one thousand, four hundred and twenty-nine.”

Roman chuckles at Virgil's expression, and kisses his cheek.

“Can I continue my account now?” Logan asks, sounding frustrated.

“Of course.” Roman waves him on, although his other arm is still wrapped around Virgil's waist. “My apologies.”

“I was curious about the local fae, knowing that they were different to my homeland. Unfortunately, I didn't realise that the customs which had kept me safe were no longer so efficacious in my new home. I went exploring in the forest, and ran into Patton. I was… enchanted. In every sense of the word.”

Logan and Patton share a smile.

“He was just adorable!” Patton recounts. “I couldn't help myself! I had to play with him for a bit. But I let him go back after a couple of days –”

“I found myself stumbling back into town a week later, feeling very foolish and with only hazy memories of the time I'd spent –”

“And _then_ –” Patton grins, which manages to be adorable in spite of his pointed, shark-like teeth. “You tell them, honeybee.”

Logan gives him a look so soft and so fond that Virgil almost feels like he's intruding, despite being the audience for this story.

“Then I came back,” Logan says softly. “I couldn't get the memory of Patton out of my head, so I sought him out again.”

“When he found me, I nearly fell out of my tree. I couldn't be- _leaf_ it!”

“This time, he was too surprised and too intrigued to glamour me. We started talking, and I… kept coming back.”

“No matter how many times I told him not to.”

Logan sighs.

“Patton told me he couldn't be with a mortal.” He glances at Roman at that moment, Virgil notices, and he wonders why. “But I was stubborn and persistent. I found out a way to become one of the fae, so that we could be together.”

“Without telling me!” Patton complained. “And it was dangerous, and foolhardy, and completely pig-headed, and I -” He sighs. “I'm _so_ happy you did.”

“As am I,” Logan replies, and – yep, they're kissing again, okay. With no particular sign of stopping.

Virgil turns away, and finds Roman gazing intently at him.

“Don't _you_ start,” he snaps.

Then he hurries out of the room, leaving Roman making flustering sounds of protest behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's fae fic recommendation is one I've had saved since the earliest days of this fic. [Love and Other Fairy Tales](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1111962) is an incredible fae Sanders Sides AU by the amazing SoDoRoses/tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors/Violet. Welcome to the town of Wickhills, where the locals are all only too aware of the fae nearby. Logan is a changeling whose human parents kept him, Patton is cursed by the "generosity" of his fairy godmother, Roman has spent his life hunting fae in the forest, and Virgil... Virgil is a fairy prince, asleep in an enchanted glass casket.
> 
> This fic is still ongoing, but updates with a ridiculous frequency, and I am on the edge of my seat with every single chapter. This is one of my favourite fanfics of all time, and if you haven't read it yet, you definitely need to.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Patton's visit continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fae Fuck Fridays lives!
> 
> Okay, for serious, I know this fic is updating slower now. That happens when you go from having two ongoing fics to five! But if you pressure me about updates I guarantee it will have the inverse effect. I have anxiety and pressuring me about posting deadlines makes it much harder for me to write. _Please do not._

Things settle into something of a routine with Patton and Logan. The big difference is that they are _around_ far more than Roman has ever been – and, consequently, Roman is around far more as well, although his duties still lead him to disappear for at least part of each day. But Logan and Patton seem all too happy to stay with Virgil from breakfast until bedtime, either keeping up a lively conversation, or simply sitting in the same room, keeping him company as he draws or reads.

Logan is… nice to have around. Although he has his moments of that same alien strangeness that all fae seem to share, he also understands what it's like to be human. He is far better at explaining fae concepts that Roman has struggled to communicate – he hears Roman struggling to describe an ingredient of their dinner and flatly informs Virgil: “it's a kind of potato” – and he has a restful air that makes spending time with him feel immediately relaxing.

Patton, on the other hand, always seems to have boundless energy. But while Virgil expects to find that annoying – at it is, at times, a little grating – there's something about the diminutive bird-like fae that can't help but bring a smile to his face. Patton has an infectious smile, no apparent shame or boundaries, and an endless curiosity about human culture.

And also, Virgil discovers, a deep love of puns.

“What might you call a fae dating someone?” Patton asks.

“What?” Virgil can already feel the smile tugging at his lips.

“An af- _fairy_ of the heart!”

Virgil can't help but laugh, even as Logan sighs from across the room. They're in the library after dinner, and Logan – having despaired of Virgil's understanding of the ways of fae, and of Roman's ability to teach him – is putting together a reading list of recommended books for him.

“I almost regret ever teaching you about puns,” Logan comments.

“ _Almost_ ,” Patton teases. “You secretly like it!”

Logan smiles fondly at him.

“I'm surprised you can even… _do_ puns,” Virgil comments. “Isn't it kinda borderline about the whole… truth-telling thing?”

To Virgil's surprise, Logan immediately turns to Roman.

“I'm sure you can explain better than I can,” he says. Virgil might not have known Logan long, but he doesn't seem like the kind of person who says that often.

“Truth is… in the mind of the speaker.” Roman waves his hands around. “It does not matter what is strictly _true_ , but rather what I believe. If I were genuinely convinced that the sky was green and grass was blue, then I could say so without the slightest difficulty. But of course, there are grey areas. Figures of speech, so long as they are metaphorically true, are normally acceptable – prophesiers would be out of a job, otherwise! I can call you whatever nickname I wish, provided I mean it as a metaphor, my starling.”

Virgil feels his cheeks grow a little warm.

“So puns work like metaphors?”

“Precisely!” Roman smiles. “Although there are limits, I'm afraid. They can be quite difficult to predict, even for someone with my experience.”

“Experience?”

Roman seems to falter for a moment at Virgil's question. Logan, apparently not noticing, answers for him.

“Roman is an accomplished author.”

The words “are you kidding me?” are already on Virgil's tongue when he remembers that _Logan literally cannot be kidding him_.

Roman makes a vague sweeping gesture.

“I dabble in the literary arts. As much as my limitations allow.”

Limitations?

Virgil realises what he means.

“You – you can't write a lie, either?”

Roman's look of sorrow is all the confirmation Virgil needs.

“Unfortunately not,” he says with a shrug. “But still, I persist where I can…”

“You try and write fiction?”

“Heavily inspired by real events.” Roman's voice is flat and mournful. “Extended metaphor can only take you so far.”

“I'd… love to read it,” Virgil says softly.

Roman meets his gaze with a heavy look, that has Virgil's guts roiling.

“I would appreciate that,” he says.

“Hey Anxiety!” Patton completely fails to notice the mood. “Do you know how Roman distributes his books?”

“No, Patton, how?”

“He _elf_ -publishes them!”

 

And that's the main problem Virgil has with Logan and Patton's visit. They're wonderful people, and getting to know them has been great!

But he and Roman have gone from private time _all_ the time, to _none_ _whatsoever_ , and it's starting to take its toll. And since the thought of asking Roman for some time alone – let alone doing so _within Logan and Patton's earshot_ – makes Virgil want to cringe himself out of existence, he decides to settle for the next best thing.

He pleads a headache, goes to his room, and prepares for a good old-fashioned session of self-love. He strips off his clothes, grabs a large tub of the greasy-oily lube that Roman's house supplies him with, and makes sure the catch on his door is locked. He doesn't want to be disturbed for half an hour _at least_.

Virgil lies across the bed, and runs his hands slowly over his own body, teasing a little over his thighs. The first light touch against his cock feels _so good_ , and in less than a minute, he's already half-hard. He starts flicking through scenarios in his mind, trying to come up with a suitable fantasy. Between the last few weeks, and his incredibly-vivid dreams, it isn't hard to come up with something.

He closes his eyes, and pretends that he feels Roman's hands on him – Roman's weight, pinning him down, Roman's mouth biting at his nipple, Roman's hand, slick and slow on his cock, teasing him with the promise of what's to come.

It doesn't take long before he's gasping with pleasure, biting back the whimpering pleas for more that his imagination conjures in abundance. But he can't help but let out a single moan:

“ _Roman_ …”

“You called?”

Virgil's eyes snap open. Roman is stood beside the bed, a knowing smirk on his lips. Virgil fights back the initial urge to cover himself – it's Roman, he has already seen Virgil in pretty much every state of undress – and instead glares up at the fae.

“Doesn't that come with an off switch?”

“I confess, I didn't foresee a situation in which you might be calling my name without desiring my presence,” Roman says, still smirking. “I can go, if you wish…?”

“No, you can stay,” Virgil says. “But this isn't a spectator sport. If you're here, you're helping.”

“Helping?”

“ _Roman_ –”

“I need the words, my sweet.”

Virgil sighed.

“I want you to have sex with me,” he says, reluctantly.

Roman is on the bed before he can blink.

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Roman teases, his fingertips dancing over Virgil's hip and down the crease of his thigh. “Not as hard as this, anyway.”

Roman nudges Virgil's hand out the way, and he lets it fall, clutching at the sheets instead as Roman strokes firmly over his cock.

Roman leans forward, until their lips are almost brushing together, before asking:

“Now, I believe I was on your mind?”

“It's been… fuck, _days_.”

“You only had to ask, my lovely.”

Roman runs his fingers through Virgil's hair. He tugs lightly, and Virgil bites back a moan.

“Logan and Patton…” Virgil says, falteringly.

“Oh, they would join in too if you wanted. They're both quite taken with you.”

Roman watches Virgil's expression change, and chuckles softly.

“Have I scandalised you?” he teases. “I know mortals go in for monogamy, but fae see things rather differently. So long as you understand that they'll always put each other first, you could have whichever one you prefer. Although from past experience, I _do_ recommend both together.”

Virgil is suddenly finding it hard to think.

“Should I call them?” Roman asks him, lightly.

“… No,” Virgil says, softly. “Not right now. But, uh… all three of you?”

“If that was what you wanted,” Roman murmurs.

“… Huh.”

Virgil's brain was no longer responding.

“But, we have gotten rather off track.” Roman's eyes sparkle with excitement. “What was it you wanted from me, dearest Anxiety? Was it my hands, or my lips perhaps?”

“I…”

Roman's hand stills on Virgil's cock, even as he can feel his cheeks beginning to burn.

“I was thinking about your hands,” he mumbles into Roman's neck. “On my cock. And, uh… inside me.”

“And is that what you want now?”

Virgil's hips buck of their own accord.

“ _Please_ ,” he hisses.

“Then I will endeavour to please you.”

Roman gets up onto his knees, and moves between Virgil's legs. He pulls Virgil's hips towards him, forcing them up onto the slope of Roman's thighs, Virgil's knees falling open against his chest automatically.

Something about the change of angle has Virgil's heart racing. Roman is towering over him, still clothed while Virgil is naked, looking down at him with something that borders on predatory –

Then Roman takes hold of his cock again and strokes it, and Virgil can hardly breathe.

“Roman!” he hisses, followed by a desperate, choked-off whine in the back of his throat.

“That's it, darling,” Roman says softly, stroking over Virgil's cock again. He pumps slowly up and down, while his other hand dips slowly between Virgil's legs, stroking over the perineum and circling his asshole a few times before pressing inside him, slick and careful.

“Nngh!”

Virgil is past the point of words, every nerve in his body burning with heat. He bites down on the back of his hand to muffle a loud moan, halfway to a scream.

“Is everything alright, sweetness?” Roman's hand stills – why is he stopping, when all Virgil wants is _more_ and _faster_ and _deeper_? “You aren't normally so shy with your voice.”

Virgil moves his arm to cover his face, embarrassed.

“They'll hear,” he admits. “Lo and Pat – they're downstairs, I don't want them to…”

“Oh, shadow-heart.” Roman shakes his head. “I didn't realise… a fae's hearing is rather more acute than a mortal's. They can hear you. Or they could – it seems that our activities may have inspired them into getting distracted…”

Virgil's cheeks burn bright red.

“I can make sure they hear nothing more, if you wish,” Roman offers. “Or…”

Something in Roman's voice catches Virgil's attention, and when he meets the fae's gaze, he finds it burning with desire.

“Or if you prefer, my starling,” Roman says, his voice dropping to something low and rumbling with temptation, “you could let them know exactly how good I'm making you feel.”

Virgil's heart pounds in his chest. Then, inch by inch, he lowers his hands down to grip the sheets again, and rolls his hips upwards, letting the groan that rises in his throat punch its way out of him.

“Beautiful,” Roman says fervently. He starts moving his hands again, working Virgil's cock at an achingly slow pace while he moves his finger slowly inside, pressing a little deeper with each thrust. And Virgil – Virgil lets himself be loud, lets the litany of moans that bubble up onto his tongue break free, lets himself grab at the sheets and toss his head and let out high-pitched, desperate whimpers as Roman pushes his body deeper and deeper into ecstasy.

Roman brushes his prostate, and Virgil lets out a wordless shout and grinds his hips back against Roman's hand. He knows he might be heard – knows that Logan and Patton must know exactly what the two of them are doing together – but he doesn't care. He isn't ashamed of this. He wants them, wants _everyone_ , to hear how Roman is taking him apart, and how much he loves every minute of it.

“Roman,” Virgil is begging, his voice ragged and broken between moans, “Roman, please, need more –”

“When you ask so prettily, how could I deny you?” Roman comments, and then there's a second finger pushing in beside the first, and Virgil's moans take on an edge of desperation. He rolls his hips weakly in time with Roman's rhythm, each press forward bringing the smooth slide of Roman's hand on his cock, each thrust back sparking electricity in his veins as Roman's fingers drive unerringly against his prostate.

Virgil's pleasure grows higher and higher, until with a cry he is spilling over Roman's hand, his body tensing, his head thrown back against the pillows. Roman strokes him through it, until Virgil's final groan trails off into nothingness, and he goes to move away.

“Wait!”

Virgil grabs at Roman's hand, still slick and sticky, and as Roman meets his eyes he takes a slow, ragged breath.

“You didn't…?” Virgil asks.

“If you're about to make me an offer, I'm more than happy to wait until you have your breath back,” Roman replies.

“No, I –” Virgil might flush, if his skin could turn any redder, if he had any embarrassment left in him after that. “Uh. You could come on me? If you wanted to.”

Roman makes a low noise in his throat. Virgil wonders for a moment if it's a growl, but honestly it sounds more like – purring?

“That sounds –” Roman falters for a moment. “Yes, I can do that.”

He unties his pants one handed, pulling out his cock in between Virgil's legs, right next to his own which is softening and spent. Roman's is… neither of those things. He starts stroking himself at a quick pace, not breaking eye contact with Virgil for even a moment, and Virgil feels another surge of braveness come to him.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” Virgil tells Roman. “I showed you how good you make me feel… now you get to show me.”

“Anxiety…” Roman sighs. Virgil grips onto his thigh, and his eyelids flutter closed. “Anxiety, I…”

“I didn't mean show me with words,” Virgil says, in a low voice, and Roman groans instead, hips stuttering forward as Virgil's nails scrape along the fabric of his pants.

Roman makes a soft, almost-pained noise, and shifts so that his cock is rubbing right against the curve of Virgil's thigh. Virgil's own cock half-twitches in response.

“So fucking hot,” he tells Roman. “Gorgeous, and so good at taking me apart. Come on, Ro, let me see how much you liked watching me.”

Roman comes with a loud, guttural moan, his seed spurting in hot stripes across Virgil's stomach. Roman opens his eyes just in time to see Virgil drawing his fingers through the mess, trailing broad swirls of bright white across his dark skin.

“I… I can…” Roman gestures to the mess, but Virgil shakes his head.

“Come here?” Virgil asks, and Roman lies down beside him. Virgil stretches out, his legs a little stiff from their position, and rolls onto his side. The feeling of the come dripping down his body is filthy, but damn if it doesn't feel good.

Pulling Roman in for a long, open-mouthed kiss feels good too. Virgil smirks afterwards to see the stains he's left on Roman's outfit.

“Satisfied?” Roman breathes into his mouth.

“Fuck yeah,” Virgil responds, kissing him again. “You?”

“Yes,” Roman says. Then: “Ro?”

Virgil shrugs. “It felt right. Sorry, I know names are a whole thing –”

“No,” Roman says quickly. “Don't apologise. I liked it.”

Virgil smiles.

“Okay, then I'll keep doing it, Ro.”

Roman pushes him onto his back, and kisses him until he's breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's fae fic recommendation is Ash by Malinda Lo. This story is a Cinderella retelling with a bisexual twist, which is a great idea. It had some fun worldbuilding, although I felt like it belaboured the point a little in places. Also, not enough fae! Four stars.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil spends some time with Logan and Patton.

The next few days are… well, Virgil definitely is _not_ feeling neglected by Roman any more. Of course, it's a little awkward to see Logan and Patton at dinner and know that they _kn_ _o_ _w_ what the two of them have just been up to. But the two fae don't seem to be acting any differently, and Virgil finds his embarrassment fading quickly. In fact…

What Roman said about Logan and Patton being interested in him has been playing on Virgil's mind more than a little. Roman was great, of course – but Virgil couldn't deny that spending time with Logan and Patton was an entirely different kind of experience. The married couple were much less intense than Roman, more… fun.

And if Virgil starts wondering how fun they might be in _other_ contexts… well, if Roman doesn't mind, and nor do Logan and Patton, then there's no harm thinking about it, right?

 

Roman is out doing whatever a fae prince does all day, and Logan is engrossed in a book, but Virgil finds himself unable to sit still. The fifth time he glances up from the page in front of him to look around the room, he finds Patton watching him with a knowing half-smile.

“What's up, Anxiety?”

“Nothing, I just –” Virgil sighs. “It's too quiet here sometimes. I miss – back in the mortal world, I could play music whenever I wanted to listen to something other than my own thoughts, but here, that isn't really an option.”

“Why not?” Patton asks.

“Well, I guess there's probably a way you could do it with magic or whatever, but I can't…”

Patton is suddenly beaming, and Virgil trails off.

“I think I should show you something,” Patton says, with barely-concealed excitement. “Lo, you coming honey-bee?”

Logan glances up, smiling fondly at his husband.

“No, you go ahead. I'll come find you in a little while.”

Thoroughly intrigued, Virgil follows Patton through the house into the large ballroom at the back of the East Wing. Virgil has been here a few times before, but he hasn't really spent much time here. What is there to do in an empty ballroom?

Then Patton opens a small side-door Virgil has never noticed before, and reveals an old-fashioned gramophone, complete with a big brass horn for a speaker. Beyond it, against the wall, are several wooden storage units full of records – vinyl ones, their huge paper sleeves incongruously bright against the refined baroque architecture.

“Books aren't the only thing Roman collects from the mortal world,” Patton explains with a smile. “You'd know the music better than I would though…”

Virgil leafs through the record collection. Most of it is old – Virgil hasn't recognised anything later than the 60's – but there are a few familiar names: Sinatra, Elvis, The Beach Boys, The Beatles.

“What's good to dance to?” Patton is beside him, smiling up with bright, wide eyes. “You can teach me!”

“I… uh…”

The claim that Virgil doesn't dance dies on his lips at the sight of Patton's puppy-eyes. He'd think he was being enchanted into it, if he hadn't seen Logan and Roman melt under that gaze several times in the last couple of weeks.

“How about this?”

Virgil grabs a copy of “Rock Around The Clock” and puts it on the machine. Patton only has to click his fingers for the disc to start spinning, and soon the opening notes are playing. Patton grabs Virgil's hand and pulls him out onto the dancefloor.

Falteringly, Virgil manages to kick along to the rhythm – he's seen Dancing With The Stars, he knows what this kind of dance is meant to _look_ like at least. Patton picks up the step almost as fast as Virgil does, and after the first chorus, Virgil grabs his hands, and they're dancing together.

It's not exactly smooth – they spin around the floor so fast it makes Virgil dizzy, occasionally stopping to do a twirl. Virgil even dips Patton once – easier than he expected, Patton is as light as a child despite his curves. After the first song finishes, Virgil moves on to showing Patton the Twist and how to Hand Jive, which Patton takes to gleefully. It's impossible for Virgil not to smile as they dance – smile at Patton's bubbly enthusiasm, smile at the familiar music, smile at the kindly way Patton catches him every time he stumbles.

By the time the record ends, Virgil is exhausted. He collapses to the floor in a heap, but he can't keep himself from laughing.

“I take it you two are enjoying your activities.”

Virgil glances across at Logan in the doorway. He smiles at Logan, and he can feel that it's a dopey grin, but he can't bring himself to care.

“We had a lot of fun!” Patton says. “Are you joining us?”

“I think Anxiety could do with a rest, love.”

“Oh, right!”

Patton offers Virgil a hand and pulls him to his feet with ease. Patton is looking at him in a curious way that makes Virgil's chest feel tight. Well, that or the dancing is causing a heart attack.

“Enough dancing for now,” Virgil says, softly. “But, I had a great time. It was fun hanging out with you, Pat.”

“Uh. Anxiety,” Patton begins, sharing a quick glance with Logan. “There's something we've been meaning to ask you. We were wondering… would you like to play with us before we go?”

Virgil blinks.

“I'm… not sure what that means,” he says, cautiously. “Do you mean… sex?”

“Not necessarily. Um –” Patton turns to Logan helplessly. “What would Roman call it?”

“We mean, would you allow us to feed off your magical energy,” Logan explains.

Virgil's eyes go wide.

“Okay, I could use a little more information,” he says slowly. “What _exactly_ does that entail?”

This time, Virgil sees it clearly – Logan and Patton frown at each other, just for half a second and then it's gone without a trace.

“We would use our magical abilities to invoke certain emotions in you,” Logan says, “and then gain energy from your experience of those mental states in our presence. I've heard the experience likened to narcotics, although it would more accurately be described as an extended moment of highly intense emotion. Has Roman not played with you before?”

“Roman doesn't use magic on me,” Virgil says, a little more defensively than he means to.

There is a moment's pause.

“I did not intend any offence,” Logan says carefully. “It is only that the experience is normally considered… enjoyable, by the mortals involved. At least, it is if the fae takes proper care.”

From what he knows of fae culture, Virgil guesses that “taking proper care” is not exactly standard practise for anyone but these three.

“Patton and I prefer to play together, as it's easier to balance one another that way. Although if you would prefer just one of us, we wouldn't be offended.”

Virgil tips his head to the side, considering.

He glances at Patton.

“You said that this 'didn't necessarily' mean sex…” he begins, his cheeks feeling warm already.

“We wouldn't touch you any way you didn't want,” Patton reassures him. “But it can be fun, combining the two.”

“What about… kissing?”

Patton's smile grows.

“What about it? Kissing can be fun too, if that's what you're –”

Virgil bends down and kisses him, quickly. The first kiss is barely a brush of their lips together before Virgil pulls back, but Patton cups a hand around his face, pulling him closer again. Their second kiss is slow and tender, Patton's smile twitching against Virgil's lips as he cards his fingers through Virgil's hair.

Virgil steps back, breath catching in his throat, and glances at Logan, who is watching them with wide, dark eyes. He offers Virgil a hand wordlessly, and Virgil takes it, stepping towards him. Logan makes no move to pull him closer, but he tilts his head up invitingly, and when Virgil kisses him, Logan's lips open under his, quickly deepening the kiss. Searing heat is burning in Virgil's veins, and his heart is pounding by the time he finally pulls away.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly. “Yeah, I think I could try playing with you.”

 

The three of them make their way to Logan and Patton's room, stopping on a few occasions to kiss some more. Virgil is thrumming with excitement, his heart skipping a beat every time Patton puts a hand on the small of his back or Logan strokes a hand through his hair. It's electric, but not in the same way things are with Roman. Logan and Patton feel completely different, like this is something light-hearted and fun, like they really are _playing_ together. Virgil isn't sure this will happen more than once, but he's happy to enjoy it for what it is.

Patton makes a soft noise against Virgil's lips, pressing him against the wall only a few metres from the bedroom door. Virgil groans back at him. A moment later, Logan's hand is cupping his face, and he lets himself be led forward into another kiss, Logan walking them both backwards into the room.

“You know,” Patton says, his voice taking on a low, playful edge that sends a thrill down Virgil's spine, “we don't have to play. We can keep kissing either way… or more, if you want that.”

Virgil shivers, but shakes his head. “No, I want to know what it's like.”

“What are your limits?” Logan asks, in a voice which shouldn't be that sexy. “Are you alright with us kissing you while you're under?”

“Kissing yes,” Virgil says quickly. “Touching… above the waist? I don't want to take things any further than we have already. Not if I might not remember it clearly.”

“You ready to start?”

Patton cups Virgil's face in his hands, and he nods slowly.

Patton kisses him, and it takes a moment for Virgil to feel the difference. At first, he simply feels happy – which is hardly a change. But somehow, the feeling balloons inside him, growing until it's almost too big for his chest to contain. He starts laughing into the kiss – giggling, actually, and Patton is giggling too. Virgil presses a flurry of kisses to Patton's face, feeling as though he's flying, soaring through the air.

When he rolls over to face Logan – when did they all lie down? – Virgil is quick to press their lips together. But as they kiss, the feeling of ecstasy drains out of him all at once, leaving a serene calm in its place. Virgil feels as though time as frozen, every detail of the scene around him mesmerising in its intricate beauty. He stares at Logan's face, suddenly aware of every eyelash around those dark brown eyes, the delicate curve of Logan's chin underneath his midnight-dark fur…

Patton curls up behind him, running a hand up Virgil's side, pressing a kiss to his neck, and Virgil gasps at the sensation, his skin feeling ten times as sensitive as it should. He cranes his neck, turning towards Patton –

And their lips meet, and Virgil is flying again.

Virgil flows back and forth between the two, being kissed and held and touched from all sides as his heart swings from ecstasy to serenity and back again. He has no idea how long he stays like this, transfixed by the heady sensations of euphoria and hyper-awareness, but at some point his awareness of himself slowly slips away.

 

When he comes back to himself, the room is dark. He is tucked under the sheets of a bed, and his chest feels strangely hollow, like the feeling he gets after a panic attack, or after crying until he can't any more.

There are voices in the doorway.

“– assumed at first you were merely being _coy_ about the matter –”

“Well, that's one way of putting it!”

Roman and Logan are arguing in whispers.

“– but now I realise you have _lost your mind_.”

“Logan!” Patton chides.

“Why keep him if you won't make use of him? He had no idea what we were going to do, Pat, you saw it!”

“And I couldn't possibly have any other reason for wanting him around?”

Roman's voice is cold, and his statement seems to shock Logan into silence for a few seconds.

“We're worried about you, kiddo,” Patton says softly. “When was the last time you fed?”

Virgil is pretty sure they aren't talking about physical food.

“Patton…”

“There is reasonable consideration, and then there is stubbornness. You hadn't even _asked_ him. You need to keep your strength up, Roman –”

“My strength is doing just _fine_ ,” Roman snaps. “I have no intention of doing that to him.”

“But –”

“He doesn't have to.”

Virgil pushes himself into a sitting position, and the trio in the doorway turn to look at him. He is a little woozy, but he's determined to have his say.

“Leave him alone,” he repeats. “If he doesn't want to do that with me, he doesn't have to.”

Logan shakes his head.

“You don't understand, Anxiety,” he says. “This isn't only a game to us. Fae need to feed off of emotional energy, or they will waste away and die. If a mortal refused to eat, wouldn't you try to feed them?”

Virgil frowns.

“Is he starving?” he counters. “I don't know how you'd tell, but – he said his strength was fine. He can't have been lying, right?”

Roman gives Virgil a soft smile as Logan looks the taller fae up and down.

“… No,” Logan admits. “He seems… perfectly well. Somehow.”

“I told you, I don't _need_ to play with Anxiety in order to keep my strength up,” Roman says with a sigh. “I have my ways.”

“If he isn't making himself sick, then conversation over.” Virgil yawns. “Can someone take me back to my room? I need to sleep for another eight to twelve hours.”

As he'd guessed, Roman rushes over and scoops him up immediately.

“Of course, my frail-legged fawn,” he says.

Virgil leans against Roman's chest, his eyelids sagging as Roman carries him down the corridor.

“Ro?” he asks sleepily.

“Yes, Anxiety?”

From his current position, Virgil can hear Roman's pulse pick up at the nickname. _Note to self._

“I'm too tired to play word games right now,” he says, “but if I found out you tricked me and you're starving yourself magically, I am going to be incredibly pissed off.”

“No tricks,” Roman promises. “The way that feeding like that works… the magic brings the right emotions to the surface, but that isn't the only way. Any emotion you have affinity with will serve, regardless of its source. I gain energy from experiencing mortal desire… particularly if I then fulfil that desire.”

Virgil starts to blush, glancing up at Roman. “So you mean…”

“Since you have arrived at my residence, I have fed frequently and well,” Roman says with a smirk. “No manipulation required. Although…”

“What?”

“Did you enjoy it?” Roman asks, and Virgil wonders if he's imagining a touch of sadness there.

“Playing with them? It was fun. Interesting.”

Roman sighs.

“If you would… prefer it…”

Virgil has to bite back a laugh.

“Oh, fuck no!” he answers immediately. “It was… I liked it, with them. But it wouldn't… no, not with you.”

He doesn't know why that distinction is so clear in his mind, but it is. If Roman were to play with him that way… he can barely even imagine it. The most he can say is this: when he's with Roman, he doesn't _want_ to lose himself. He wants to feel every moment.

“Then we shall continue as we were!” Roman declares. “Here we go.”

He lowers Virgil gently onto his bed. Virgil stretches, kicks off his slippers, and wiggles under the covers as quickly as possible. Then, just as he's about to fall asleep –

“Do you have to go?” he finds himself asking.

“Not immediately,” Roman answers.

“Could you… stay? Just until I fall asleep.” Virgil blushes at the question. “It's fine if you don't want to, I know you probably need to finish that conversation with Patton and Logan –”

“I would be delighted to,” Roman interrupts him, lying down on top of the sheets beside Virgil and putting an arm around his waist. “Is this satisfactory?”

Virgil's entire face is hot.

“Yeah,” he answers quickly. “That's great.”

He falls asleep in minutes, listening to the soft sound of Roman breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's Fae Fiction Rec is the novel Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett. The Discworld books have a great interpretation of fae, and this book is a heavily folklore-inspired story that doesn't require any background knowledge of the series. It's also the introductory book for one of my favourite Discworld characters, Tiffany Aching, who grew up on the Downs like me and was a year younger than me when each of her books was published. This story is aimed at children, so expect a simple reading level, but it should be interesting enough to keep an adult's attention too.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.


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